


All Books from The Elder Scrolls Online: Dark Brotherhood

by TheOneRulingNerevarRing



Category: Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-09 22:29:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 98
Words: 33,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16458230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOneRulingNerevarRing/pseuds/TheOneRulingNerevarRing
Summary: Just as the title say's, This is the 3rd part in my completion of making a complete collection of all Elder Scroll's books to date.





	1. A Call to the Worthy

Urgent matter. Very dangerous. Pays well. You will risk your life performing this job. Only the most skilled adventurers need apply.

Come to the inn in Kvatch and look for an Imperial named Reman Mevavius to obtain more details.


	2. A Gold Coast Children's Bestiary

Goblin  
Goblins from beyond the heath,  
Wear necklaces of children's teeth!  
Their arrows with the poison laced,  
From nixad guts—ground into paste.  
Minotaur  
The minotaur are warriors born.  
They hang dead children from their horns!  
Don't think them cows; they never "moo."  
The meat they most prefer is you!  
Nixad  
The nixad flit about like flies.  
Their favorite meal is children's eyes!  
These sugar fiends are cruel and vain.  
They take delight in children's pain.  
River Troll  
Every child with half a mind,  
Knows river trolls are most unkind.  
Those who don't will soon endure,  
Their childish minds in troll manure!


	3. A Nixad Made Me Do It

Mother,

I did push Selia into the sea. But it wasn't to ruin her dress!

You see, I spotted a nixad on the way to the beach. Selia kept telling me it was wrong to sneak away. She was quite loud about it, which is how she drew its attention.

You know how nixad are. They pluck out the eyes of pompous children, then roll them around in moon-sugar! I had to do something so the nixad wouldn't turn Selia's eyes into snacks.

At first I thought to tug at her hair. I saw the nixad giggle, but Selia ran and shouted how I would be in such trouble.

That annoyed the nixad, so I chased Selia. I caught her at the little rise by the sea and pinched her arms. I thought we were safe, but then she said, "I will tell Mother what you did, and you will be in such trouble!"

I could hear the nixad's wings. If you can hear them, it means they're angry. What else could I do?

So I pushed. She fell into the sea, soaked though and spluttering. The nixad laughed to hard it fell out of the air.

Selia bawled all the way home. I made her walk - I refused to carry her one step. That was enough to satisfy the nixad.

Mother, I admit I was cruel to Selia, but it was the only thing I could do to protect her. Isn't that what you taught me? To stand up for my little sister?

-Your loving daughter


	4. Anvil Lighthouse Report

M-

I have concerns about the new lighthouse keeper. With the distribution of a reasonable amount of gold, her husband was willing to look the other way.

But ever since his death, his wife has proven unwilling to come to terms. Every approach has been rebuffed, and she bars the doors to all but the people she knows. If we can't work with her, she needs to be replaced.

The Sermonizers keep yammering about the Dark Brotherhood. If they're truly around, we should see if they're taking contracts. Why waste a boarding action on a merchant flotilla when fog and the shallows can do the work for you?

-X


	5. Anvil Taxes

All Anvil Tax Collectors - READ NOW!

I recently learned that some of you slow-wits are still charging the docking fees set by Count Ephrem, one-tenth of all gold exchanged for sales or purchases. In case you laggards forgot the recent sacking of Anvil, Count Ephem isn't in charge of the docks any longer. Governor Fortunata runs these docks now, and you'll charge all vessels that make port and exchange cargo on my docks by her new fee - one fifth.

For those of you simpletons who don't know what a fifth is, count your fingers and your thumb. Your thumb is a fifth, the amount you take, and your fingers are the rest. So when you see a stack of gold, take your thumb's worth or more, but never less. Anyone complains, you crack their heads open.

If there are too many for you to crack alone, you come tell me. We'll go to the ship in force and crack their heads together. No matter what, no ship leaves until its captain pays. If a ship does leave port without paying their taxes, the sentries assigned to keep her in port will pay her docking fees in thumbs and fingers.

Also, starting tomorrow, anyone I find collecting the old tax rate is spending a night in the sea cages.

Dockmaster Qamar


	6. Arena Note

Concerning the one who calls herself a beggar.

She's not a beggar. In fact, we're not really sure what she is. Why someone would pretend to be a poor beggar—and do so badly, I might add—I have no idea. She was seen in the company of a rather handsome Khajiit though.

Code Location: Not on the Main Road.


	7. Baandari Peddler Note

This one was, apparently, not clear enough in her directive against picking up travelers in passing, even if they offer gold! More travelers mean more attention, which is not a thing we seek. Some of the goods we transport are not held in the same high esteem as they are in our homeland. So much so that some of these good are considered to be illegal to possess. So this one doesn't care if your new friends "seem nice." If we are forced to answer the questions of the authorities, we will have plenty of time to grow to dislike one another while we spend time in the same cell.

Khajiit are expected to express their regrets to their newfound friends and see they do not tag along when next we depart. Otherwise, this one will be forced to bare her claws upon your purses and reduce your cut of the profits accordingly.

This one assumes you understand now, yes?


	8. Bitter Travels Among the Nixad

Abah's Landing is like most cities. The poor and witless cannot survive long. Luckily, this one is not witless. Many days I scouted the city, searching for means to rebuild my fortunes. An inattentive, overconfident merchant would serve nicely. I, Zabia-ko, found one at the Spotless Goods Shipping Concern.

Through hard work, soon this one could afford a cart, a guar (named Little Bazrag, for his stubbornness), passage to the Gold Coast, and some crates of exotics to trade. Zabia-ko's promise to her father would be met! She would return to her childhood village, pockets fat with gold, sacks of coffee, and bags of Mistral moon-sugar, prized for its fruity aftertaste.

But tragedy befell Zabia-ko on the road from Anvil to Kvatch. After selling a sleeve of horker summer sausage to workers at a dig site, they invited her to rest for the night at the edge of their camp.

Sleep could not have held this one long when the ground shook, followed by much shouting. The workers scattered, running every direction like field mice during a game of This One Caught Many. Little Bazrag refused to wake, so Zabia-ko hid.

That's when we saw them. Tiny creatures, no taller than the lip of this one's boot, with buzzing wings. As they chased one of the workers from his bedroll, he shrieked "nixad!" before plummeting over the lip and breaking his leg. The little beasts giggled and taunted him as he moaned in pain.

Nearby, Zabia-ko heard high-pitched grunting. She spotted one with a pouch of gold hanging from its sharp claws. It did not seem that it should fly under such weight, but its wings flapped furiously, successfully fleeing with its prize. The other raised its arms over its head, ready to strike at a bag of the Mistral moon-sugar. It dove in headfirst, legs and wings protruding from the bag, as it happily ate its weight.

This one grabbed the thief by the legs and pulled it from the sack. It thumped my head and giggled wickedly. As it buzzed away, it left a trail of sugar in its wake. This one gave chase, but lost it in the darkness. During the struggle, Zabia-ko failed to notice the other nixad plunge face-first in the moon-sugar bags.

By the time she returned, Zabia-ko found empty sacks. All that remained were three dead nixad inside, overstuffed with moon-sugar. Even Little Bazrag had wandered off.

Once more I lost my goods! Prized Mistral moon-sugar—such a loss, wasted on filthy, wicked creatures. As for the coffee? Completely untouched.

Zabia-ko learned much that night. First: should you lose your Mistral moon-sugar to nixad, roast them afterward. Their sweetened meat leaves a tingling, fruity aftertaste on the tongue.

Second: When traveling through nixad-infested lands, surround your moon-sugar with bags of coffee. The bitter scent should drive them away, making your journey all the sweeter.


	9. Cathedral Hierarchy

A Primer for Novitiates by Chanter Amia

Novitiates, allow me to once again welcome to your new role in the service of Akatosh, the Dragon God of Time. You begin upon a journey of great importance and spiritual reward, but you are not the first to tread this path, nor will you be the last. Many share this journey and will tackle the same challenges that stand before you. While your path may not lead to the same destination as your fellow novitiates, it does travel in the same general direction.

As you begin to perform the duties of the Cathedral of Akatosh, you must ask yourself how you wish to revere the Dragon God of Time. Will you spread the word of the Dragon God though prayer and guidance, leading worshipers though their devotions and hearing their pleas? Or will you take the pulpit and the street with holy texts in hand, speaking the truths of the Divines to those who require a rekindling of the fires of faith?

After you complete your initiations, you will be asked to make that choice. To take up the mantle of Chanter or Sermonizer. Reflect on your decision carefully, for the demands of each branch in the path are very different.

Remember that the Primate oversees all aspects of Akatosh worship in the Cathedral, supported equally by the Grand Chanter and the Grand Sermonizer. For this reason, Chanters and Sermonizers stand shoulder-to-shoulder, bringing the light of Akatosh to the masses in equal but different ways.

As a Chanter, you will follow the lead of the Grand Chanter, offering compassion and guidance to those who come to our Cathedral in need. You will learn to mend their bodies, minds, and spirits with prayer and wisdom, as well as become a teacher yourself, leading worshipers though their offerings and rituals so that they can grow closer to Akatosh.

As a Sermonizer, you will muster behind the Grand Sermonizer, armoring your conviction against the great enemies of heresy and infidelity to guide the lost and faithless back to protective wings of the Dragon God. You will learn to wield words that will strike the heard, burning the impurities of dark influence and self-indulgence. The wicked must be chastised and condemned before they may be redeemed, and it is you who will drive out their darkness.

Do not mistake this division of duties for a lack of unity in purpose. We are guided by the Primate, who has the wisdom to see that both paths are equally important to the reverence of Akatosh. The Primate is the guiding light of our Cathedral, improving the lives of all who look upon its shining brilliance. The Primate, like Akatosh, will never lead you astray.

And if a different task calls to you, one of military service and the need to safeguard the faithful, consider pledging yourself to the Order of the Hour. Keeping the Cathedral and the faithful of Akatosh safe from the dangers of the world is a noble calling, should the more spiritual nature of life in the Cathedral seem like too mundane a method to show your devotion to the Dragon God of Time.

These paths stand before you, novitiate. May Akatosh guide you to your ultimate destination.


	10. Chewed Note

Don't bring Waarosh down here to fertilize the eggs while there are juveniles running about!

How many times do I have to explain this to you? He will attack them and they might hurt him! He's the only mature male that we have in this area, and without him all of those eggs are useless.

Mess up again, and it'll be you that we feed to him. I don't care what we promised those knightly bastards.

Captain Pernay


	11. Confessions of a Vampire Devotee

I first heard about the vampire lord Zalar-do while exploring the markets of Elden Root. The stories both fascinated and frightened me. Here was a Khajiit who had gained power and notoriety, whose very name was whispered with fear and a healthy dose of respect. I admit it. I had been pondering the risks and benefits of life as vampire even since I was a child. Now, with each tale I heard, every rumor I digested, I realized the goal that was set before me.

I had to find Zalar-do and convince her to turn me into a vampire.

Why do I want to be a vampire? That's a good question. I've certainly asked myself that very same thing on more than one occasion since this obsession grabbed hold of me. I suppose it has something to do with the allure of power and the correlation between vampirism and sex that some scholars go on and on about (yes, I've read every book and letter I could find pertaining to the subject). But if I can be totally honest - and since this is my private journal, I suppose I have to be - the real appeal has to do with the longevity of the species. I've read that ancients can survive hundreds, even thousands of years. As a child who saw both of his parents die much too young, this "immortality" has become a very attractive to me.

I'm not extremely keen on the idea of drinking blood, however, but I suppose every advantage comes with its own set of disadvantages. Such is the way of the world. I might be squeamish at fist, thought I expect with time and practice I could even grow to enjoy a daily feast of the crimson liquid. I wonder if it needs to come from an intelligent creature? Or if it has to be fresh? I guess that's what the protruding fangs are for.

Before I could locate Zalar-do's lair or otherwise introduce myself to the vampire lord, the hunter Mel Andrys [sic] appeared in town. He asked about disappearances and mysterious deaths, and he even mentioned Zalar-do by name while I eavesdropped on his conversation with one of the town guards. He was going to ruin my chance to meet and offer myself as an apprentice to the vampire lord. I followed the hunter around, watching how he searched for traces of Zalar-do's passing and tracked her to her lair. It was empty, of course. She was much too smart to be caught by the likes of Mel Andrys.

I spent the next few months staying as close to the vampire hunter as I could without revealing my presence. I figured that he'd have a better chance of locating Zalar-do than I would, and once we got close to the vampire lord I was sure I'd be able to figure out how to help her avoid Mel Andrys and convince her to reward me with the power of the vampire. It was this dream that kept me moving, following the hunter from Grahtwood to Greenshade to Malabal Tor, until we eventually made out way to the Gold Coast.

Here, luck was with me. The vampire hunter was indisposed after we docked in Anvil. The rough storm our ship traveled through seems to have made the poor man ill. That gave me time to search for Zalar-do and get a few steps ahead of Mel Andrys. I believe that she has established her lair in Hrota Cave - the perfect location from which to stalk prey in Anvil when the hunger comes upon her. I've made my way to the cave and plan to present myself to the vampire lord forthwith. I can't wait to become one of her apprentices.


	12. Contractor's Note

Watch Commander Pelletus,

The new installation Lord Jarol commissioned has been completed. Access to the lower levels of the estate has been concealed and secured by a lock of my own design. The method of passage detailed below should be shared only with those you trust.

Three false wine casks have been constructed to look identical to the rest. One conceals the passage, the other two open it.

To unlock the mechanism, first identify the cask with lanterns hanging closest to them. Each cask requires two knocks upon its face. Two casks, two knocks each. Surely even the most simple minded of your guards can remember that.

If these steps are followed correctly, you will hear the click of the mechanism in the aforementioned third false cask, the one in the western wall that conceals the old passage. It will remain unlocked for a period of time before automatically resetting. If you do not hear the click, I can assure you the fault is not with my mechanism and entirely with your method.

Signed,  
Belrande, Artificer and Locksmith Extraordinaire

P.S. Burn this letter after you have memorized my instructions. Don't post it up in the pantry like my last client. That defeats the whole purpose


	13. Count's Correspondence

Dearest Uncle,

I'm not sure why I continue to write to you. I know you're gone. That you can't read my words and respond in kind. I certainly never send the letters. In fact, the box I keep them in is nearly full. Whatever the reason, writing my thoughts as though I'm talking to you calms me and helps me think through the problems of the day. And, oh, dear Uncle, do we have problems!

I've told you at length about the vile and hateful Fortunata ap Dugal. Damn the woman, but she's a pox upon the Gold Coast! It's all I can do to keep her greedy claws from snatching Kvatch and devouring it whole. She's already ruined Anvil. I refuse to allow her to do the same thing here. And, I suppose, that's the reason for our latest correspondence. I just wish that I could benefit one more time from your wisdom and experience.

I have decided to appeal to the lesser of two evils in order to save our beloved city. I never expected to consider the Dark Brotherhood to be a lesser evil, but that's the times we're living in. I've gathered all of the components necessary to conduct the foul ritual. I'm not looking forward to performing this gruesome ceremony, but I know of no other way to employ the services of these assassins. Uncle, do not be disappointed in me. I can truly claim that Fortunata has left me no alternative.

With any luck, the next time I write to you, it will be to tell you that Kvatch is safe again. I miss you, Uncle, every day.

Carolus


	14. Dibella's Mysteries and Revelations

By Lady Augustine Viliane, Sibyl of the House of Dibella

The skies over Wayrest are stormy and changeable, more often gray than blue, but some mornings in Second Seed the sun rises into heavens blue and clear, and a mild, warm breeze blows in from the Iliac Bay. It was on just such a morning, under trees fragrant with blossoms, that I was welcoming several new novices to their vocation in the House of Dibella.

They were full of questions, as the young always are. "Holy Sibyl," asked a young oyster-catcher from Aldcroft, "is love truly the answer to every question?"

"It is—if the question addresses the heart," said I. "Rarely if it addresses the mind."

"Holy Sibyl?" asked the shy engraver from Alcaire. "Is it true we must dance for the worshipers while … unclad?"

I smiled. "That is as your spirit shall will—and as the weather shall allow!"

"I have one, Holy Sibyl," said the clever child of a Wayrest banker. "If the Aedra sacrificed themselves, each to add something to the making of the world, what did Our Lady contribute to the world?"

In reply, I scooped a double handful of fallen blossoms from the sward and rained them over his astonished brow.

"I am troubled, Holy Sibyl," said the hostler from Northpoint, "for I know not who is my father."

"That is naught to the Goddess of Beauty," I gently replied, "for she says, 'No matter the seed, if the shoot is nurtured with love, will not the flower be beautiful?'"

"What if a congregant seeks me as ardor-partner," said the knight's scion of Evermore, "but I find her without favor?"

"Love whomever you may," I sang, "but love coerced is not love at all."

"Holy Sibyl, is it true what they s-say," stammered the owlkeeper's heir, "that you lost your s-sight from the Great Flu?

"It is," I smiled, "but what of that? For can I not dance?"

"Holy Sibyl!" "Holy Sibyl!"

"Peace, young novices!" I cried. "For it is Fredas, the bell tolls sundown, and the congregants await us in the chapel. Come, now! Come! Bring wine, bring tambours, bring light feet and warm hearts! Our Lady calls us to worship."


	15. Dragonstar Caravan Company Note

Damn caravan drivers. Always want to look good to their bosses, so they skirt the main roads to avoid the costs of tolls and customs. And what happens? We have to free their carts and wagons when they get stuck in the mud. We're supposed to guard their sorry arses, not pull them out of a ditch every time they decide to bypass a toll booth! And if you try to tell me that's the life of a typical caravan guard, I'll run you through with my sword!

Maybe I'll take a peek at the ledgers during the next night shift and see just how much this is all worth to the company. I'll be renegotiating my contract, for sure, if they intend to keep breaking the law on my watch.

I know you've got my back if it comes to that, but how about you take the temperature of some of the other guards. I'd like to have a strong position to haggle from if it comes to that with those Dragonstar merchant lords.


	16. Epitaph's

Boundless Eternity Awaits Us

Ianus Faleria

Died S Dawn 19 421

Age 35 years

Let the Weeping Cease

Lucina Faleria

Died S Dawn 19 421

Age 47 years

You are the Light in My Darkness

Maxivian Faleria

Died S Dawn 19 421

Age 1 year

May My Actions Bring You Peace

Neransi Faleria

Died S Dawn 19 421

Age 38 years


	17. Exposing a Terrible Evil

I have had it up to here with the rogues and hoodlums that have turned our once great city of Kvatch into a cesspool of crime and depravity. And do you know who the worst of the bad bunch happens to be? It's that nest of vipers, that cult of secrets pretending to be a legitimate business. Oh, some of you have heard whispers, and some of you know the legends, but only I have learned the whole, gory truth! And now I plan to expose these brutal fanatics to the bright light of day! Dark Brotherhood, prepare to be revealed as the cowardly murderers you really are!

***

I discovered this unfinished letter among my brother's papers, along with a journal full of evidence, anecdotes, and idle speculation about the supposed religious ascetics who sell their dark talents to the highest bidder. While I can't prove it beyond a showed of a doubt, there is no uncertainty in my own mind about the fate of my brother. He didn't die from eating a rotten red mushroom stew. No. He was brutally assassinated by those degenerate cultists who follow the whispers of the Night-

***

Oh dear. First my brother-in-law. Now my husband. Who knew the men in their family were so fragile, so prone to dying at an early age? But maybe there's more to what happened to the two brothers than the obvious conclusion. We're supposed to believe that two virile and healthy men in the prime of their lives simply keeled over and died while working at their writing tables? I've studied the letter they both began to write, reviewed the damning journal with its tales of murder-for-hire and dark rituals conducted on the dead of night.

I've read it all, and there's only one conclusion I can come to. My husband and his brother died of - natural causes. There's no such thing as a cult of paid killers operating on the Gold Coast! And anyone who tells you differently will probably wind up just like my beloved husband and his no-account brother. So, to anyone who might read this, I'm burning the journal and putting all of this murder nonsense behind me.

Just the same, I probably won't be eating any red mushrooms stew for the foreseeable future.


	18. Fantos Epilion's Journal

Entry 42  
I thought the Anvil Mages Guild would require no effort to join. The town is run by pirates! Even so, the magister insists I show a "rigorous mind," whatever that means.

Entry 43  
I thought the magister was being literal, so I delivered a fresh minotaur brain to the guild hall. I'm no fool; I thought to wrap it in three layers of waxed paper. I don't see why it caused such a fuss.

Entry 45  
The magister realized I have no practical knowledge of the dreugh, either. I now have a book about dreugh mating practices and a directive: "Find an alchemical use for grom." What in Oblivion is grom?

Entry 46  
I read the book. Grom is shell of a dreugh which it has eaten and then regurgitated after mating. "Fibrous balls," according to the book. "Foul-smelling." There are no known uses for grom, alchemical or otherwise. I'm beginning to think the magister doesn't much like me.

Entry 47  
I've made camp at a dreugh mating ground on the coast north of Anvil. The creatures are docile unless provoked, which allows me to observe them and collect as much grom as I need. Joyous day.

Entry 48  
I thought I knew tedium. Now, my life consists of waiting for dreugh to mate.

Entry 49  
I've spotted my first ball of grom! This is what passes for excitement, now.

Entry 50  
The old book wasn't lying. There is no alchemical use for grom, unless it's "ruin a variety of expensive alchemical ingredients," or "permanently stain mortar and pestle." But I won't let the magister show me up.

Entry 51  
I can confirm grom is inedible. Boiling just makes the smell worse.

Entry 52  
Boiling was the key! As it cooled, the fibrous pulp hardened into the same shell. I realized that, in this state, I could form and shape the pulp. I was able to fashion a simple potion flask that took a stopper well. Potion flasks that won't smash if you drop them? There's your alchemical application, magister. Of course, I've run out of grom. In order to reproduce my results, I need more dreugh to reproduce.

Entry 53  
More tedium. Why can't the dreugh mate faster?

Entry 54  
I can make the dreugh mate faster! While dumping an alchemical concoction into the sea, a nearby dreugh seemed to perk up and rub its claws together. It immediately sought out another dreugh and paced about, circling it. More activity than I've yet seen from these creatures. I'll cook up another batch and sprinkle it along the beach tonight.

Entry 55  
The dreugh seem agitated. Now they all pace, but the mating still isn't happening any faster. Tonight I'll increase the batch's potency by a factor of eight. If that doesn't get them over their lethargy, I don't know what will!


	19. Field Guide to River Trolls

The origin of the race of trolls is somewhat obscure—which is another way of saying we know absolutely nothing about where they come from, how they got here, or why they exist at all.

The troll has certainly haunted Tamrielic folklore from time immemorial, known to nearly every culture and appearing in tales of all sorts, from children's fables to the histories of the ancients. Indeed, they are mentioned in Khosey's venerable "Tamrilean Tractates," which speak of "ye Trohl of Rapace, thrice-orbed Enormity [that] Eateth ye Fleshe of [both] Commons and Kyngs."

After our long history on Tamriel with them, we men and mer should really know quite a bit about trolls, should we not? Perhaps so—but we don't. The few facts at our disposal are as follows:

\- Trolls are fierce and formidable carnivores, devouring anything they can catch down to fingernails and marrow.  
\- A troll injured by any means but fire heals with preternatural speed, a regeneration almost certainly magical in nature.  
\- Troll fat is a reagent prized by alchemists, though its virtues seem to vary depending on different recipes and rendering techniques.  
\- Despite their physical prowess, trolls are reclusive creatures, and their lairs are usually found well off the beaten track.

We can say little else with certainty, save that trolls live in a range of habitats and seem to exist in variations appropriate to their environment of origin. The most common, and therefore best-known types of trolls, include the Forest Trolls of central Tamriel, and the Frost Trolls of the far north.

But history and legend tell us of other types of trolls, more obscure perhaps, but no less fascinating. Some, like the Lava Trolls of Vvardenfell, are almost certainly extinct (if, indeed, they ever existed outside the fevered imaginations of Dark Elf corner club raconteurs). But today we shall speak of a rare breed of "Trohl of Rapace" that you can definitely still encounter—and not in far-off regions like Middle Argonia or Topal Island. They live in Cyrodiil itself … if one knows where to look for them.

I'm speaking of the elusive River Troll. You won't find it listed on the Imperial Register of Beasts and Lower Beings, but it's real nonetheless, as I can readily attest. I myself have personally seen, in the marketplace of Sutch, the carcass of a River Troll that was brought in by an intrepid hunter who traps the tributaries of the Brena. She told me they lair out of sight in riverside caves or burrows, subsisting on mudcrabs, large fish, and crocodiles—as well as upon unwary people, when they can get them. This might be why they're so rarely reported, as few survive such an encounter.

The appearance of the corpse, fire-scarred though it was, bore out the brave hunter's account. Unlike the familiar forest variety, this River Troll's hide was clad in shiny water-shedding scales, silver-blue in color and as durable as they were flexible. The long scaly hands had webbing between the clawed fingers, and the fangs were the sharp, spiky teeth of fish-eaters. The hunter said they can hold their breath for long periods, lurking unseen in the shallows until they erupt from ambush to overwhelm their prey.

Since that encounter I've questioned others who range the wild places of Cyrodiil and learned that the experience of the hunter of Sutch was not unique. River Trolls, though rarely seen, can be found lurking in the watersheds of the Brena, Strid, and central Niben river systems, and doubtless account for a fair percentage of the livestock—and people—who go missing in these regions. Knowing what I do now has certainly persuaded me to confine my nature walks to paths on the drier uplands, lest I end my scholarly career as fodder for trollkins in some muddy riverside burrow!


	20. Free Market of the People

Listen up, sailor! From this day forward, our glorious Governor Fortunata has declared the port of Anvil free and open to ships and sailors of all kinds and creeds! There is no law in Anvil save hers!

Be you a sailor of Stros M'Kai or Blackheart Haven, Alabaster or Sanctuary, Abah's Landing or Bravil, you will find a second home and business partner on our lucrative docks. No matter your cargo, be it slaves, skooma, or war trophies, you may trade it freely here. Your cargo is your cargo, and who you sell to is your business. So long as you pay the docking fees, you may conduct any business you wish.

On the docks of Anvil, we enforce no laws but three.  
1) Conduct your business without unnecessary bloodshed.  
2) Pay your docking fees before you leave.  
3) And show your utmost respect to Governor Fortunata.

Also, while you're in port, why not grow your stack of gold in any of our legal gambling establishments? Enjoy some time with the most beautiful and affordable companions from across Tamriel? Watch the finest gladiatorial battles and blood-letting in nearby Kvatch? Whatever your vice, you'll find it here!

Make no mistake, friend, there is no port friendlier to sailors and privateers than Anvil's port. None!


	21. Garlas Agea Construction Log

Day 1: Today we arrived at Garlas Agea, at the behest of the Gold Coast Trading Company. The company wants us to disarm some—as they referred to them—ancient mechanical inconveniences. Upon seeing these "inconveniences" with my own eyes, I'm a bit more worried than I was before I arrived. The contrivances are giant Akaviri blades that swing the width of one of the main halls. Not quite sure what to do with them, I think we should explore the rest of this death trap and carefully watch for anything that might suddenly leap out and kill us.

Day 2: So, the giant swinging blades aren't the only obstacles we have to deal with. Lucius, probably my best scout, choked on his own tongue when he ventured into one of the main rooms. Turns out, the floors in that room spew noxious gas. At this rate, I may lose a couple more of my best workers before we get this place cleaned out. I'm going to have to renegotiate our fee if I make it out of these ruins in one piece.

Day 4: Finally got those damn gas traps shut off, and I managed to do it without losing another worker. I still ordered my workers not to spend too much time in that chamber. I'm sure more gas is seeping in somehow. Regardless, we've made more progress into the ruins.

Day 7: We found the other end of what we think is the hall with those damn swinging blade traps. Sabrina seems to think she can make it past them if she times it right. I would rather try to block them off with a few wooden planks then send her through those swinging monstrosities. This may at least immobilize them so we can prepare for the reconstruction of the main hall.

Day 9: Success! We managed to immobilize the swinging blades. We even managed to put some scaffolding up. Seems I may not have as hard of a time with this place as I initially feared.

Day 10: The blade traps unexpectedly broke free of the blockade, killing one of my workers. We seem to be trapped back here now. Only one of the blockades still holds, but for how long? Sabrina said she was thinking about making a run for it.

Day 11: Sabrina made a run for it. It didn't go as she planned, but I'm thinking about just going for it as well. The thought of Sabrina bleeding and dying from those brutal wounds is the only thing holding me back. A couple of the mercenaries we hired were able to throw us some food and a few wine skins, but we're going to have to figure out something soon or we're still going to die here. If I can work up the courage, I may run through the blades of death. Tomorrow.


	22. Glories of the Pirate Queen

Many of you scallywags haven't had the pleasure of sailing alongside the glorious Captain Fortunata, so here's some facts to set you straight about her grand and glorious Provincial Governor!

When Captain Fortunata shouts, the wind listens.

Captain Fortunata has never had scurvy because scurvy doesn't want to make her mad.

Captain Fortunata once sank a boat when she loosed a powerful sneeze, but the sailors on board didn't drown because she ordered them to live.

Hurricanes happen when Captain Fortunata farts into the wind.

Captain Fortunata once spit on the city of Evermore. That's where the Lake Bjoulsae came from.

A stupid Dark Elf once told Captain Fortunata she couldn't sing. She punched him so hard he flew into the sky. We're still waiting for him to come down.

Captain Fortunata only used a sword because she's tired of killing people with her little finger.

Captain Fortunata doesn't fish. When she wants a fish, it flops up onto her deck and cooks itself.

Sharks don't bite Captain Fortunata because they don't want to break their teeth.

Daedric Princes beg to make deals with Captain Fortunata.

And that's just the beginning of our beloved Pirate Queen's glories!


	23. Gold Coast Goblin Tribes

Compiled by the Anvil Fighters Guild As a service to the public interest, the Fighters Guild seeks to educate all denizens of Tamriel about common threats. This tract discusses the goblin tribes of the Gold Coast, and is presented by the Anvil Fighters Guild.

***

Hall Steward Shabeh af-Naifa,

Per the terms of my punishment detail, I elected to provide you with this essay regarding the goblin tribes found in the Gold Coast. By your estimate it should have taken me little more than a day's work. It is with great frustration that I deliver this to you a week late.

The Sharp Stick tribe claims the southern portion of the Gold Coast as their territory, while the Long Tooth tribe claims the northern. What more is there to say about goblins in the Gold Coast?

Much, I discovered, and most of it confusing.

I first thought the Long Tooth tribe was the oldest goblin tribe in the region, but they are actually a recent arrival. They used to be three tribes: the Long Claws, Tooth Rocks, and Rock Sticks. The Long Claws and Tooth Rocks once fought constantly over hunting grounds southwest of Chorrol. Shortly after the Chorrol Fighters Guild took a contract to drive them from the area, they both fled.

The tribes harassed each other during their migration to the Gold Coast until they stumbled across the mostly insular but populous Rock Sticks. Presented with a common enemy, Long Claw and Tooth Rocks banded together to slay every Rock Stick who opposed them.

Within the month, the remaining goblins began to call themselves Long Tooth tribe. They erected crude banners, effectively claiming the lands north of Anvil as their territory. I don't know why. The Long Tooth aren't exactly talking.

As for the Sharp Stick tribe, they are a mishmash of several former goblin tribes. The Eye Sticks fought the Sharp Rocks, who tricked the Shatter Bones into attacking the Blood Skulls. However, the mortal enemies of the Blood Skulls were the Gut Blades, who ambushed Shatter Bones and Blood Skull alike.

When the Sharp Rocks and Eye Sticks saw the three-sided battle among rival tribes, they briefly allied to conquer the others. On the eve of their victory, Eye Sticks and Sharp Rocks turned on one another. This great battle took place in the southern region of the Gold Coast, to the complete ignorance of all but a hapless Khajiit trapper who happened upon them. (He is credited with the popular Kvatch tavern song, "The War That Never Was.")

There were survivors among the five warring tribes. Some fled and became the Rock Sticks who were (years later) subjugated by the Long Claws and Tooth Rocks. Those who remained became the Sharp Sticks, fortifying themselves against reprisal attacks from the Rock Sticks which never came. They eventually turned to a life of farming and kept to themselves.

With the Long Tooth and Sharp Stick so close to each other, it is only a matter of time before they clash. If we end up with one big goblin tribe called the Long Sticks, my only request is you put me on the contract to drive them out of the Gold Coast.

— [Name withheld from wider publication per punishment detail agreement]


	24. Gold Coast Guide, Part One

The Gold Coast: Retreat for the Longhouse Emperors By Astinia Isauricus, Publication Date: 8th Rain's Hand, 2E 566

The Gold Coast serves as a wonderful destination for travelers that seek the most interesting sights in Cyrodiil and enjoy the fine weather and sandy yellow beaches of Anvil. While caution is always warranted whenever traveling abroad, the visionary polices and leadership of Emperor Leovic have dramatically increased safety across our shores. The Emperor himself often vacations with us, and there is no better time than now to take that trip you've always desired to the temperate Gold Coast.

With bright sun and clear waves, the Gold Coast enjoys a pleasant climate fueled by warmer currents from the Abecean Sea. We offer a verdant paradise perfect for a hearty sort looking for true adventure on a reasonable budget. The Imperial Navy, tasked by our great Emperor with patrolling the Abecean Sea and ensuring safety and security across the region, makes its home port in Anvil, and no pirate dares challenge our Emperor's might. His capable, well-armed navy and accomplished soldiers ensure your safety.

This guide will familiarize you with the Gold Coast's history and its many wonderful travel destinations.

***

A Fertile Land Bound by Two Great Rivers

Two rivers of significant size border the Gold Coast. To the north, the Brena River separates Cyrodiil from Hammerfell, and to the south, the Strid River marks the border with Valenwood. Both rivers are crucial trade routes to the interior of the continent. In years past, numerous pirate clans laid claim to both rivers, but the presence of the Imperial Navy has put an end to such activities.

To truly appreciate the scale of our great rivers, one must witness the bustle of good-laden galleons sailing up and down the Brena and the Strid at the peak of trade season. While we welcome you to sail our rivers in summer, we advise against winter visits. In those months, humidity and fog make the rivers most unpleasant.

***

The Beauty and Mystery of the Western Uplands

Much of the Gold Coast interior consists of rocky highlands and low mountains dotted with trees, including dense oak, beech, and ash forests in the foothills. These areas make for perfect hiking tours or guided expeditions to our many ancient ruins, which are of particular interest to scholars and historians. As much of Colovia's wealth comes from logging, our lumber magnates maintain operations across the Gold Coast. Colovian wood remains in great demand for construction and weaponry.

Our highlands are also prone to heavy seasonal fog, which has sparked a number of superstitions, including tales of "bull men" stalking our ruins! While these are merely rumors spread by bandits inhabiting the highlands, we do suggest you carry weapons or travel with an armed escort. In the Gold Coast, your safety is our paramount concern, and we work hard to make your stay as pleasant and enjoyable as possible.


	25. Gold Coast Guide, Part Two

The Gold Coast: Retreat for the Longhouse Emperors  
By Astinia Isauricus, Publication Date: 8th Rain's Hand, 2E566

The Historic City of Kvatch

The hilltop city of Kvatch is one of the oldest Colovian cities in Cyrodiil, with a rich history and vibrant tradition. The inhabitants of Kvatch enjoy a reputation for being well-read and pleasant, as well as conservative and pious. For those devout travelers who wish to commune with or learn more about the Divines, the priests of Kvatch welcome pilgrims for devotions and worship with open arms.

The legendary Great Cathedral of Akatosh dominates Kvatch's skyline, with an awe-inspiring profile and elegant interior. With shrines to each of the Divines, the Cathedral draws visitors from far and wide to gaze upon its majesty and beauty. The venerable Order of the Hour, protectors of the Primate of Akatosh and the Cathedral, can often be seen going about their duties in and around the Cathedral. They supplement the efforts of the Kvatch Warders, who have kept watch over the city for generations. Between the two groups, Kvatch remains one of the safest places in all of the Empire.

But don't think Kvatch serves only as a destination for worship and reflection. It also hosts one of the oldest fighting pits in Tamriel - the legendary Kvatch Arena. While no arena can rival the one in Imperial City, many of that arena's best fighters got their start right here on the Gold Coast. Enjoying a match at the Kvatch Arena provides a great opportunity to see novice fighters before they earn a place in Imperial City.

***

The Cosmopolitan Paradise of Anvil

The port of call when journeying to the Gold Coast, Anvil is the crown jewel of the Abecean Sea!

As the Gold Coast's finest port city, Anvil hosts retreats for royalty and dignitaries from across Cyrodiil and beyond. The wise and noble Count Ephrem Benirus bears the title of Imperial Prefect and governs this fine city at the pleasure of the Emperor, who often visits during the summer months. A lucky visitor may witness out great Emperor Leovic waving to his loyal subjects from the balcony of Anvil Castle.

Travelers from all over come to take advantage of the wonderful open air markets, filled with curiosities and delicacies from across Tamriel. Others come to dine at the many fine eateries. Still others frolic on the sandy beaches and swim the clear waters of the Abecean Sea. While the city has many luxurious accommodations for noble families and those of means, some of the citizenry also cater to visitors with a smaller purse, offering guest rooms in their own cozy, beach-front cottages.

Ultimately, there is no more desirable travel destination than the temperate and beautiful Gold Coast. Whether you come on a pilgrimage to the Great Cathedral of Akatosh, stay to enjoy the exciting fights at the Kvatch Arena, delve into our ancient ruins, or take in the metropolitan splendor of Anvil, you will find the luxuries and adventures you seek on the edge of the Abecean Sea. Come soon. We look forward to seeing you!


	26. Gold Coast Notables

A Report Prepared by Mirabelle Motierre for her Brothers and Sisters

Matron Astara asked me to collect a few thoughts and salient facts about the movers and shakers of the Gold Coast - specifically, the most important people whom we might have to deal with at some point in the future. Now, what doesn't mean we have to kill these people. We might have to work with them, or request a favor, or - no, we'll probably have to kill them. That's usually what we do.

Provincial Governor Fortunata ap Dugal: The one-time Pirate Queen started out as a minor functionary in the Gold Coast Trading Company before her skills and ambitions earned her a place among the merchant lords at the top of the organization. But that wasn't enough for Fortunata. She set sail for an extended trade mission. When she returned, she was at the head of an armada or pirate vessels as the wildly popular queen of the Red Sails pirates. She seized the control of Anvil and proclaimed herself the Provincial Governor of the city. Now Fortunata rules Anvil with an iron fist wrapped in a velvet glove. No one dares challenge her due to her own strong personality and demonstrated fighting skills, and because there are always at least a dozen heavily armed pirates at her beck and call. Not to mention her personal Rat Master, who brings her secrets like a lover brings gifts. Her ambitions exceed the borders of the port city, however, and she has already declared that the entire Gold Coast is under her control. That's not quite true, but it appears that it soon will be.

Count Carolus Aquilarios: The Wolf of Kvatch is the nephew of Varen Aquilarious. He's served his city and defended it ever since Varen marched off to war. He may be the only truly good person among the movers and shakers of the Gold Coast. He's a man of faith and conviction, honorable and proud of his heritage. I also find him to be extremely dull. He doesn't like Fortunata, though, and has so far been able to keep her pirates out of Kvatch. He has an uneasy alliance with the Cathedral of Akatosh, which dominates not only his city's skyline but serves as its spiritual conscience as well. In fact, he recently granted the Catherdal's protectors, the Order of the Hour, expanded rights and duties to supplement the efforts of the Kvatch Guard. He could prove to be a powerful opponent of the Brotherhood - if he weren't mired in the politics of just keeping his city safe from those who would like to carve it up like a festival goose.

Primate Artorius Ponticus: The head of the Akatosh faith and the leader of the Great Cathedral, presents an interesting and complicated man. He practically burns with religious fervor and truly believes that Akatosh guides and supports his efforts. He's also as ambitious in his own way as Fortunata, as demonstrated by his swift rise though the religious hierarchy. For a religious man, he has a surprisingly vast network of spies and informants hidden throughout the Gold Coast. It's exceedingly rare for something to happen that the Primate doesn't know about. He is supported by the Grand Chanter Surus and Grand Sermonizer Fithia, as well as the warrior-priests of the Order of the Hour. If Artorius were ever to turn his faithful followers against us, they might be powerful enough to threaten the Brotherhood. Not that I think that scenario is likely.

Other notable include Lord Quintus Jarol, Commander Marcus Scipio of the Order of the Hour, Lord Harthaw Brent of the Gold Coast Trading Company, and a visitor to our lands who thought to go unnoticed, Razum-dar of the Queen's Eyes. Reports of these potential threats, targets, or allies will be on your desk shortly.


	27. Gold Coast Trading Company Note

Galverus,

I know we should always be open to capitalizing on an opportunity when one presents itself, but I have to say that I'm failing to see the upside here. I know that they must have shopping needs and desires just like anyone else, but how much gold could they possibly have to spend on Gold Coast Trading Company goods? These people live in the sewers. Literally, in the sewers.

Are we hoping they fish the occasional lost crate out of the canals and manage to salvage something? Is there a shortage of manure that requires the most creative alternative sourcing I've ever seen? What am I missing here?

If you can't provide a really good explanation for continuing this enterprise, I'm afraid the Company is out.

Kirkland

P.S. Have the decency to air out your reply before you send it this time. The stench of the sewers can be a tad overwhelming.


	28. Great Cathedral Closed!

By order of Artorius Ponticus, Primate of Great Akatosh, let it be known that public access to the Grand Cathedral of Akatosh will be denied while work crews conduct maintenance and renovations to the aging stonework and creaking floorboards of our magnificent house of worship.

This does not, however, mean that worship discontinues within the holy city of Kvatch. Our diligent Chanters and Sermonizers will walk among you, spreading the word and will of Akatosh and the other Divines.

Just as the loyal swords of the Order of the Hour defend our hearths and homes, let the words of the Chanters and Sermonizers shore up your spirits and fill you with the truth of the Dragon God of Time.


	29. Guide to Taming Dire Wolves

Do you laugh when you see dire wolves? Do you think they are big, dumb cousins of normal wolves? Then you are stupid. Dire wolves are cunning and deadly. To them, your laughter says, "I am the next thing to fill your belly." Shelga laughed at dire wolves once. Now Shelga has one ear.

Shelga is no longer stupid. Now Shelga is beastmaster of Kvatch, the city with the dire wolf banner. This is why Shelga spends much time taming dire wolves.

You may think it impossible to tame dire wolves. This is true. Predators cannot be tamed. Not really. But if Shelga called it a "Guide to Making Dire Wolves Eat Your Enemies and Not You," none would purchase. Or purchase for the wrong reasons.

—

First thing. A dire wolf looks like a wolf. It moves like a wolf. It smells like a wolf. But it is not. It is a dire wolf.

Sounds easy, but easy to forget.

A wolf needs a pack. A wolf with no pack is vicious. It is afraid to be alone. With effort you can tame a wolf. Give it food if it is hungry. Make it think it is part of your pack.

A dire wolf needs no pack. This is because a dire wolf is one whole wolf pack. It is vicious only if it wants to be. It is not afraid to be alone because it is a dire wolf.

You cannot tame a dire wolf like a wolf. If it is ever hungry, you are food. It needs no pack but itself. You must show it you are a pack as well. Show how your pack and its pack should travel together for more food. A dire wolf understands this because it eats as much as one whole wolf pack.

—

Second thing. A dire wolf has a long memory. It is like a clan-mother with grudges from forty years ago. Don't give it reason to hate you. Shelga's sister Gralga once slapped a dire wolf for eating off her plate. This is how Gralga lost a thumb and learned manners at the same time. Gralga doesn't visit Kvatch anymore.

If a dire wolf comes to hate you, do not back down. Do not cower. Show it you know its hate. Show it you don't fear its hate. This shows respect. Then give it much food to smother the hate.

Shelga thinks this is why Kvatch puts the dire wolf on its flag. Kvatch does not forget. Kvatch respects those who show it respect. And Kvatch will smother its hate if you throw its people many banquets.

Sometimes the dire wolf still hates you. Then you must kill the dire wolf. Do not do so in sight of a dire wolf's mate or it will hate you too. Just like people.

—

Third thing. Scratch the belly. Scratch behind the ear, but not in the ear. Scratch where the tail meets the back. Top part of tail only! Scratch below the chin.

Do not scratch the paws. Dire wolf paws are sensitive, like High Elves. Also they have sharp claws. When a dire wolf thinks you want to take its paws away, it will come to hate you.

—

Last thing. A dire wolf is clever but it doesn't understand magic. So use magic. Scrolls are cheaper than a false hand. Don't try to tame a dire wolf like in the stories. Don't be stupid.

Shelga's sister Bolga says this is cheating. That a dire wolf made tame by magic is not a dire wolf. Shelga calls Bolga many names. Bolga does not back down, earning Shelga's respect. Then Bolga sends Shelga boiled thunderbug eggs.

Shelga says if even Bolga can learn, so can you.


	30. Imperial University Note

Darvian,

I don't know how much longer I can sit in this dim hole in the ground with such questionable company. You'd think we weren't speaking the same language with the way they stare back when you're talking, glassy eyed and vacant as an atronach. Not to mention that my own eyes are nearly blind from reading your thesis by candlelight. (It's quite intriguing, by the way, but it's possible my surroundings simply have me craving any stimulus whatsoever. No offense.)

I don't know what the university hopes we turn up down here, but the only thing I seem to be studying are the effects of subterranean living on a sane mind. Oh, this is how it starts I bet! The slow tragic slide of a proud Mer to the pitiable depths of becoming a Falmer. My friend, if I should succumb to this mental degeneration and become a loping, drooling, savage, please make sure you record my account in the case study.

Jillivern


	31. Intriguing Ayleid Ruin

What an intriguing Ayleid ruin we discovered here in the wilds of the Gold Coast! I've marked it on our maps so that Kireth and I can return in the future and properly explore and catalog the place. As far as I can tell, the door into the ruins is sealed tight. I don't think anyone has been inside a long, long time.

What a dilemma! We have a funded expedition waiting for us in far off Hammerfell, but thus enticing ruin is sitting right here, waiting patiently for us to enter its depths. If only Kireth and I had the gold, we'd buy the necessary equipment and get inside in no time.

Well, let me make a few notes. I hate using Kireth's journals, since the pages have an annoying habit of falling out, but it's all I have on hand. I'm sure I won't lose this page. I am the brilliant Raynor Vanos, after all.


	32. Investigator Vale: Shadow Fellows

"This was no run of the mill murder, baroness," Investigator Vale said as she rose and stepped back from the body. "No, this was an assassination. The work of the Shadow Fellowship, or I'm a Morrowind mushroom. I'd take my reputation on that."

"The Shadow Fellowship?" Baroness Esmonda exclaimed, raising a dainty hand to her full red lips. "The league of assassins? That's just a myth!" Despite her protestations, the baroness suddenly went pale and looked around nervously.

"Oh, the Shadow Fellowship is quite real," Vale said, slipping off her leather gloves and returning them to the pocket of her long coat. "They've operated in secret for hundreds of years. Whenever someone gets too close to the truth, they employ bribery, blackmail, and murder to keep their activities hidden. I've made a study of the clandestine organization - covertly, of course - but I've never had a case that so clearly points to their involvement."

"Doesn't that frighten you?" the baroness asked. "I would completely understand if you decided to abandon this investigation ...."

"My dear baroness, I have never abandoned an investigation in my life and I'm not about to start now," Vale said indignantly. "I just need to determine how best to proceed."

***

That night, in a richly appointed room above the town's inn, Investigator Vale slept fitfully after talking to dozens of people and following up on a half-dozen leads. Dark dreams troubled her rest, causing Vale to toss and turn in the small bed.

Suddenly, Vale sat up, letting the sheet fall away from her body as she drew out the dagger she always kept under her pillow. She pointed it squarely at the dark form sitting in the room's only chair. The figure snapped her fingers and the candle beside the bed ignited with a spark. It helped a little, but mostly it just threw more shadows around the room.

"You're from the Fellowship, I presume?" Vale asked.

"Let's not apply any labels, shall we?" the woman said. Her face was still obscured by shadows and a mass of long, dark hair, but Vale could see that she was dressed in tight leather and wore at least three blades that the investigator could readily spot.

"Have you come to murder me in my sleep?" Vale asked, her own blade never wavering.

"Neither I nor my associated have any desire to see the great Investigator Vale come to harm," the leather-clad woman said. "There's no profit in that. We have one more contract to complete and then we'll fade away like dew in the morning sun."

"The baroness!" Vale exclaimed.

"You are as perceptive as we've heard," the woman said. "But sometimes even perception arrives too late to change the inevitable." The woman rose and stepped to the room's single window. "Enjoy the rest of your evening, investigator," she said with a slight bow before slipping into the night.

Investigator Vale did not sleep the rest of that long, dark night.

***

In the morning, Vale returned to the baroness's manor house to find that the town guard was already at the scene. She approached the captain, an older man she had worked with in the past, and nodded a grim greeting.

"The baroness is dead," Vale said. It wasn't a question.

The captain of the guard nodded. "Fell down the steps in the night and broke her neck," he said. "Must have been the grief over her husband's murder that made her careless. Such a shame, but there was no way to sop an accident like that."

"Yes," Vale agreed. "But there will be a reckoning."

And with that, Investigator Vale turned and departed the manor house, already thinking of numerous ways to deal with the Shadow Fellowship. Someday, perhaps, she would take on those villains. But not today.

Not today.


	33. Join the Order!

By decree of Primate Artorius and the holy will of Akatosh, all Red Sails pirates who abandon their criminal ways and pledge their souls to the Dragon God of Time shall receive full and unconditioned pardons for all past trespasses, real and imagined.

The Order of the Hour welcomes such individuals into it's sacred fellowship. New initiations take place regularly in the Enclave of the Hourglass until all available pardons have been distributed.

Hurry! The Order needs you. And your eternal redemption depends on it.


	34. Kindly Contrivers Notes

Minutes of the Biweekly Conclave of the Kindly Contrivers of Clavicus Vile, Abanas Smeed reporting.

Eight o'clock: Meeting called to order.  
Eight o'one: Meeting called to disorder.  
Eight o'five: Shouting subsides.  
Eight o'six: First point of order brought before the Conclave, devise appropriate response to the village of Sundercliff's plea for new farming implements before First Seed.  
Eight Thirty: Discussion interrupted by unruly fidgeting. You know who you are.  
Eight Forty: Fooligan excused to address embarrassing rash. Breakthrough reached in Sundercliff dilemma.  
Nine o'clock: Sundercliff proposal brought to vote.  
Nine o'five: Sundercliff proposal accepted by majority vote.  
Nine Fifteen: Jeering of opposing voters subsides.  
Nine Seventeen: Second point of order brought before the Conclave, progress report of cursed soul stone research.  
Nine Thirty: Opening haranguing concluded.  
Nine Thirty-One: Report started.  
Nine Thirty-Two: Report concludes, no significant progress made.  
Nine Fifty-Five: Disparaging remarks brought to a close.  
Ten o'clock: Moment of pouting silence concludes.  
Ten o'one: Third point of order brought before the Conclave, lunch.  
Ten Thirty: Consensus on food-like items could not be reached.  
Ten Thirty-One: Break suggested, libations uncorked.  
Eleven o'clock: Consensus reached that cask may have been a little off. Bedlim excuses himself to engage in a laughing fit.  
Eleven o'five: Horrific instance of mass retching takes place.  
Eleven Thirty: Mallein loudly proclaims that she wishes she had never been born.  
Eleven Thirty-One: Proclamation passes unanimously.  
Eleven Fifty: Attendees scrape together five hundred pieces of gold for an offering.  
Eleven Fifty-Nine: Lunch consensus reached.  
Noon: Conclave adjourns to prepare offering.


	35. Knightsgrave: Legend or Legacy?

By Chanter Wobolan, Cathedral Historian

What do the ruins of Knightgrave represent? And why are they important to the Cathedral of Akatosh and the Order of the Hour? Those are questions that the common person never asks, but that every one of the devoted should know the answer.

Most consider Knightsgrave to be some sort of ruined graveyard, a memory of a time when the Empire was strong and eternal. Few realize that the graveyard came later. The true meaning of the site waits in the depths below. In the beginning, the massive subterranean structure served as the original headquarters of the Order of the Hour.

It was Ennon Decan, founder of the Order, who raised the stones of the headquarters. Legends claim the site was always important to those who worship the Dragon God, but I have located no records that indicate why this may be the case. Know that the Order established chambers for training and meditation, places for prayer and contemplation, and even areas where the members of the Order could rest and relax.

With the death of Ennon and his original group of companions, great statues were raised in memory of the founders. The Order would continue, operating out of this location for nearly one hundred years. During this period, more chambers were carved out and more improvements were made to the headquarters. As the first phase of the Order came to a close and the organization disbanded, the place was locked up and turned over to the Cathedral of Akatosh for safekeeping. The Cathedral, however, didn't know what to do with the facility. So the Chanters and Sermonizers decided to turn the subterranean structure into a crypt of sorts. All the honored dead of the Order of the Hour were interred within its depths.

When Cavor Merula reestablished the Order, one of his first tasks was to dedicate the site that had become known as Knightgrave to the memory of the Order's founding members. Blessings and rituals were performed, giving substance to the Exalted Dead that lingered in the place's shadowy interior. Not wanting to disturb those resting herein, Cavor instead set out to build the Enclave of the Hourglass as the Order's new home on the Gold Coast.

So, forget the legends. Ignore the tales of nixad infestations, minotaur protectors, and Exalted Knights of the Order still patrolling the sealed chambers deep below. Knightgrave is the proud and vibrant legacy of the Order of the Hour. And as followers of Akatosh, it is our legacy, as well.


	36. Kvatch Arena Reopens!

Citizens of Kvatch! With the approval of Count Carolus, we are immediately re-opening the Kvatch Arena!

All citizens of Kvatch and beyond are invited to witness our many exciting new events, including contests of martial prowess, clashes between fierce beasts, grand melees, and more! In cooperation with the Order of the Hour, we are also adding a new event: the Circle of Penance!

Below is a list of the exciting events our legendary arena will now be hosting on a regular basis.

Clashes of Might  
Come one, come all, as the most dangerous gladiators in the land fight one-on-one, two-on-two, or four-on-four. The only things bigger than the weapons wielded in our bloody battles are the purses handed to the winners! In addition to brave Colovians, you'll see foreign fighters including fierce Nords, savage Redguards, brutal Orcs, crafty Wood Elves, and even a silent Sea Elf assassin.

You won't want to miss a moment of these thrilling contests. Come cheer on your Colovian heroes, or place your bets on foreign fighters and give them a reason to face our best. We promise a good show! Clashes of Beasts Witness brutal beasts from across Tamriel, gathered by brave handlers, as they fight to prove whose teeth and claws are mightiest! Thrill to the savage ferocity of the Bangkorai lion! Gasp at the stealthy attacks of the Alik'r duneripper! If we manage to raise enough gold from ticket sales, we've even had an enterprising merchant promise to bring us a mythical Mantikora from the savage land of Craglorn!

The Grand Melee  
Ten warriors enter, and one warrior leaves! Any combatant may enter the grand melee, using any weapon and any fighting style! You never know what to expect, save that every fight will be brutal and its outcome will be impossible to predict. With our new tiered betting system, you can even win gold if your fighter loses, so long as they are among the last to succumb. Don't miss this once in a lifetime event!

The Circle of Penance  
Hosted by the brave knights of Kvatch's own Order of the Hour, heretics and heathens who have sinned against the Divines are given one last chance to repent! Many heretics will face the brave and implacable gladiators of the Order of the Hour and, should their faith prove true and the Divines smile upon them, they may even survive. Even those who do not may find salvation before they achieve death.

Come cheer on our brave gladiators of the Order of the Hour as they crush and smite all heretics—those who dabble in dark rituals with Daedric Princes, practice necromancy, and otherwise offend Akatosh.


	37. Kwama Miner's Note

Boss,

The survey requested by the League of Kwama Miners is nearly complete at the site. Prospects appear to be real good. The conditions are perfect for seeding a new Kwama hive, provided another queen is born before Frostfall.

If we can't get a viable hive going before that time, we may have to abandon the caverns until the thaw to save on costs. Who knows what could move in between the time of our departure and return? It'd be a crying shame to lose this mine, I'll tell you that.

We'll continue with our scheduled work until we receive word to the contrary, so keep me posted about any changes that will affect us.

Kwama Miner Dabruun


	38. Letter from Kireth

Dear Cousin Deminah,

I hope this letter reaches you in good health and good fortune. How are things in Vvardenfell? Maybe Raynor and I will come and visit when we're finished with our business in Hammerfell. If we ever get to Hammerfell, that is. Let me tell you about our latest adventure. And yes, it's all Raynor's fault, as usual.

We received word of a new Dwarven ruin discovered near Tava's Blessing and Raynor was eager to get there as quickly as possible. While I secured supplies for the trip, Raynor went to negotiate passage to Sentinel. But you know how he gets. Excited and caught up in a new discovery. That's when he lets things slip. He meant to get us on a boat to Hammerfell, but somehow we ended up on a ship making its way to Anvil. And that's where we are, without a spare gold piece to our name and no prospects for getting to Hammerfell in the near future.

Oh, don't worry. We'll think of something. We always do. And we've never visited Anvil before. There are so many pirates! I think you'd like it here. You always had a bit of pirate in you, from what I recall during our last visit. And how's your husband doing? Still trying to make a living selling that vile concoction he calls wine? Seriously, dear cousin, you could do so much better!

Well, I have to run. We're going to try to find employment in this wretched city so we can earn enough gold to pay for a trip to Sentinel. Wish us luck! And when we come to visit you, I'll make sure to bring a carafe of shein—I know you don't like your husband's swill any better than I do!

Kireth V.


	39. Letter from the Governor

My dear Lord Jarol,

I look forward to our next meeting. I have always enjoyed our working relationship, and I am ever so grateful that you have agreed to allow us to use the secret chambers beneath your estate for a conversation that needs to remain extremely private.

Our guests should arrive promptly by the usual means. Please make sure they are comfortable and see to their every need until I make my appearance—fashionably late, of course!

And do try to make sure that Count Carolus and the Primate don't throttle each other senseless before I arrive. We have important business to deal with and I need them both focused on the issues at hand. I don't know how they accomplish anything in Kvatch, the way those two constantly snipe at each other.

Oh, and on your way down, why don't you bring me a bottle of your family's best wine? You do have to pass by that way, after all.

Provincial Governor Fortunata


	40. Letter to the Grand Chanter

Your Excellence, the Grand Chanter,

I must ask again, when can I be reassigned to the Kvatch Cathedral? The shrine devoted to Akatosh here in the Chapel of Dibella is fine, but I must admit to a sense of discomfort among all these Dibella followers. One of the Eight Divines is as great as the next, of course, but my heart and soul longs to be in the presence of the Dragon God's grand palace in Kvatch. Besides, there are so many heathen pirates in Anvil. How the other priests of the Divines stand them is beyond my capacity for rational thought.

I know! If I can aid in the efforts against the Shadows That We Hate, would that earn me a position at the Cathedral? There's that little Nord woman I mentioned in my last two letters. She has opened up to me about topics that would make your blood run cold, your Excellence. Perhaps I can use some of what she confided in me to weaken the Shadows and perhaps even throw them into some confusion. Yes, I'll make sure that the next time we speak, I strongly suggest a course of action that will separate her from her pack. I may even have a use for those Silver Dawn fanatics.

I await the good news that you have finally found a place for me in the Cathedral.

Your servant in Akatosh, Chanter Nemus


	41. Letter to Sybilline Elve

Sybilline, my dear friend! Did you misplace my previous letters? No matter, I shall reiterate.

The Scribonias were once the most powerful family of the Gold Coast. Our ancestral home was the talk of every quarter in the Imperial City. Many an Emperor visited our estate and rode through our lush and unspoiled lands. Our loyalty to Imperial rule was never questioned. When my mother threw in her lot with Varen Aquilarios, she did so absolutely. The very stone of our own estate helped form Varen's Wall.

But as Varen's fortunes fell, so did those of the Scribonias. We find ourselves with little gold to our name. As you well know, gold must be spent to acquire more gold. A simple loan of 50,000 crowns would do well to restore us to our rightful place, and you are the moneylender upon whom I count to do so. I eagerly await your response!

Your dear friend, —Meluse Scribonia

PS: It is true I have spent much time at the arena in Kvatch. I assure you this is entirely for the thrill of the sport, and has nothing to do with the gambling.


	42. Letter to the Withered Rose

My dearest Ladia,

How are you, my dear, sweet lady? I do hope business has improved at the Withered Rose. I've always enjoyed my dalliances at your delightful little hostel, but I understand travel has been diminished through our region of late. It must pain you not to have the number of visitors that once filled your humble home.

But worry not! I am a man of my word, as I'm sure you know quite well by now. I shall continue to pay you a handsome stipend in exchange for ongoing access to the tunnels that run beneath my estate. Who knew that my grandfather and yours once used them to smuggle goods into and out of Anvil? I suppose it's just good fortune that we decided to carry on the old family business.

And in case you were concerned, I can assure you that I've extended my arrangement with the governor and her pirates. The gold will continue to flow - just so long as you keep the tunnels secret and continue to allow my associates to have ready access. Oh, and see what you can do about the spider infestation. The pirates complained after they made the last run.

And do let that lovely daughter of yours know that I was asking about her. Lucinia is growing up to be a most fetching young woman. Who knows? Perhaps we can work out another arrangement regarding her availability in the near future. I think I'd like that.

Lord Quintus Jarol


	43. The Lie We Tell Ourselves

Dearest Mother,

I remember your name. I have surrounded myself with lying liars and have become a liar myself, but in my lies I see the manifestation of your domain as clearly as the blood we spill in the shadows of a secret murder. So even though I wish to scream truth in their faces or whisper your name into the ear of the dying, I tell myself that the secret is my faith, my joy and not a blasphemy.

Yet just once I wish for you to speak to me. Why not me? I have listened for you always. I cloaked myself in you long before they called me Dark Sister. I was the Chimera, ever shifting and changing and lying a thousand thousand lies for you. To be seen by you. To hear you. They call themselves Listener, but no one listens for your whisper with more hope and desire than I do.

I have walked in accordance with your Arts, shrouded in Eight Shadows. I have lived lies and ended lives, not for the Dread Father but for you. They call themselves Speakers, but no one has spoken your words with as much conviction as I do.

Do you see the shrine that I have built? A shrine of my body. Every face a lie, the envy both elicited and felt. The mastery of seduction. The embrace and instillment of fear, the betrayal of family and truth. The murder of others, the murder of self. The insatiable want. The fury I feel and release and feel again at you, you, you when all treasures are nothing but lies.

Dearest Mother, I remember your name. But I will speak the lie and love the lie if you wish. Perhaps that is your lesson. The treasure is the lie.


	44. Litany of Blood

Woe unto they, Night Mother, those born to Anu.  
From beyond death's prison, I offer those who meet my unshriven gaze with your blade's cold caress.  
You will know them by their eye.

***

Prey to thee, Dread Father, those born to Anu.  
From Skywatch, I offer she who reflects the heavens in her gaze and dress, drifting from dance to dance.  
You will know them by their eye.

***

Prey to thee, Dread Father, those born to Anu.  
From Elden Root, I offer he who is as aged and gnarled as the trees, his back bowed but not bent.  
You will know them by their eye.

***

Prey to thee, Dread Father, those born to Anu.  
From Marbruk, I offer she who surveys the market beneath an auburn veil and keeps silver close to her heart.  
You will know them by their eye.

***

Prey to thee, Dread Father, those born to Anu.  
From Vulkwasten, I offer she who sweeps away the seasons with straw and the swish of her tail.  
You will know them by their eye.

***

Prey to thee, Dread Father, those born to Anu.  
From Rawl'kha, I offer he who clothes his stripes of brown with stripes of gold.  
You will know them by their eye.

***

Prey to thee, Dread Father, those born to Anu.  
From Davon's Watch, I offer he who is silver, ash, and fire, draped in copper filigree.  
You will know them by their eye.

***

Prey to thee, Dread Father, those born to Anu.  
From Mournhold, I offer she who marches beneath a red crest and wields winding steel.  
You will know them by their eye.

***

Prey to thee, Dread Father, those born to Anu.  
From Stormhold, I offer she who is caked in mud but wears a halo of bone, bright and untouched by mire.  
You will know them by their eye.

***

Prey to thee, Dread Father, those born to Anu.  
From Windhelm, I offer she who bears time at her waist, but for whom age has not robbed her golden crown.  
You will know them by their eye.

***

Prey to thee, Dread Father, those born to Anu.  
From Riften, I offer he whose arms are coiled and stained with the ink and weeds of the sea.  
You will know them by their eye.

***

Prey to thee, Dread Father, those born to Anu.  
From Daggerfall, I offer he whose dress is as coll as his demeanor and pate as barren as his heart.  
You will know them by their eye.

***

Prey to thee, Dread Father, those born to Anu.  
From Wayrest, I offer she who peers from behind a crimson curtain and marred her face to hide her nature.  
You will know them by their eye.

***

Prey to thee, Dread Father, those born to Anu.  
From Shornhelm, I offer she who greets death as a sister, her smile joyless and unflinching.  
You will know them by their eye.

***

Prey to thee, Dread Father, those born to Anu.  
From Sentinel, I offer he who leaves a trail of neat black ropes dangling over a golden cage.  
You will know them by their eye.

***

Prey to thee, Dread Father, those born to Anu.  
From Evermore, I offer she whose heart bears many scars, but does not fear to wear them proudly.  
You will know them by their eye.

***

Prey to thee, Dread Father, those born to Anu.  
Pray from we, Night Mother, those born from you.  
I offer they whom anathema sought to hide.  
You will know them by their eye.  
Hail, for in blood they weep.


	45. Lord Jarol's Deep Thoughts

She's coming again tonight, though it won't be a private visit. Just another meeting of the powers that be to dicsuss our common problems. A woman of her bearing shouldn't have to be bothered with "common problems," but at least she's happy to accept my help.

I wonder if she'll wear her pirate sash tonight? I love when she wears her pirate sash. It gives Fortunata such a swashbuckling air that I can barely resist reaching our and swabbing her decks. (Oh, that's clever! I'll have to work that into our next conversation.)

Whenever I'm confounded by such thoughts, I find the view of the sea from my terrace washes away all my cares. Not to mention the wine, which does its share.

Perhaps I can persuade Fortunata to linger after our business is done. I'll break out my best vintage and bring her to this spot. We can drink in the scenery. Together.


	46. Naryu's Fortune

No matter how beautiful the darkness may be, the dawn destroys it when the sun finally rises.


	47. Naughty Nereid Players

Gather all and listen well! The Naughty Nereid Players have come to town!

For the cost of a few paltry pieces of gold, you can witness the daring, the audacity, and the bawdy portrayal of your favorite tales—performed as only the Naughty Nereid Players can play them.

Marvel at the tempting Tilwen, the wanton woman of a thousand faces—each more beautiful than the one before!

Drool over the magnificent mountain of a man, the Torrid Torolon. His very gaze has been known to melt the hearts of men and women alike!

Be mesmerized by the mysterious Ritabeth, the exotic and vivacious vision forged in the burning sands of Hammerfell.

The Players promise to perform all your favorites, including "Netches, Netches, All Around," "Brave Little Scrib," and "Pesoris and the Argonian Maiden."


	48. Needful Things

Today's Shopping List

Black Tar  
Cairn Bolete Cap  
Harrada  
Rot Scale  
Bone Marrow  
Funnel Seeds  
Wisp Stalk Caps  
Vampire Dust

Note: See that stuffy Dark Elf with a stick up his bum about the dust. He's got plenty.


	49. On Minotaurs

By Nonus Caprenius, Temporarily Unaffiliated Scholar of Imperial Antiquities

No matter how many institutions of higher education expel me, no matter how many publishers decline to print and distribute my theories, I refuse to recant my position or change the topic of my research—not until minotaurs have received the recognition and respect that they deserve!

In the course of my research into the origins of the Empire, specifically the rise and fall of the Alessian Order, I came across a wondrous thing. Hidden in the background, often purposely obscured but still visible to those of us who know what to look for, was an entire race of humanoids who have been all but stricken from the historic record. This crime against history must not stand, and I pledge to restore these creatures to their proper place in the chronicle of the Empire.

I'm referring, of course, to the maligned and misunderstood minotaur. These humanoids with bodies that resemble humans and heads that resemble bulls trace their lineage to Empress Alessia herself. While no period records survive to state the truth of the situation, many ancient documents from later periods speak of a relationship between the Slave-Queen and Kynareth's son, Morihaus, whom the Divine sent to aid and advise Alessia. Often depicted as a minotaur, the demigod Morihaus, I believe, gave rise to the race through his dalliances with the Slave-Queen and the birth of her son, Belharza the Man-Bull.

Whatever the truth regarding the origins of the minotaurs, they began to appear in greater and greater numbers in the years during and after Empress Alessia's reign. I contend that the early minotaurs were as intelligent and cultured in their own way as any Elf or Orc or Khajiit. Fiercely loyal to the Empire, the minotaurs were among Empress Alessia's most devoted defenders. Certain art and tomes from the time hint as much, but many of my detractors want to know where the hard evidence is to back up my claims. Unfortunately, much of that evidence was destroyed in the intervening period while the mis-named Alessian Order held sway over the Empire.

It was, after all, the Alessian Order that followed the rigorous Alessian Doctrines. Of all the rules and regulations set forth by the Seventy-Seven Inflexible Doctrines, the most notorious were those firmly opposed to the Elves. I contend that the Order wasn't restricted to anti-Elven sentiment. I believe its resentful followers applied the Doctrines to any non-human races they felt like persecuting—including the minotaurs. One remaining fragment of an ancient tablet, known as the Belharza Stone, shows what most scholars agree is a section of a larger carving depicting Belharza the Man-Bull, second Emperor of the Alessian Empire, facing down enemies. My own study of the fragment tells a very different story.

By the cut of their armor and the shape of their spears, I believe the so-called enemies depicted in the carving are actually fanatical precursors of Alessian troops. The spears, jabbed directly at the minotaur's heart, indicate that these proto-Alessians killed or drove off the minotaurs, thus beginning the decline of the race that we still see in evidence in the current day. It's a shame what happened to the once-majestic race of bull-men! But wait, I can hear my detractors already. They demand more evidence—evidence that I fear was wiped out along with a hundred other atrocities committed by the Alessian Order. But I do have one more fact to consider, and it's evident to anyone willing to travel to specific sites and watch the activity of the minotaurs from a safe distance.

If you happen to study the minotaur in the wild, you'll find that they often congregate at or near ancient sites of significance to the Empire. Why? I contend it's because they have an instinctual memory of a time when they were fierce defenders of the fledgling Empire. I contend that they are drawn to such sites, compelled to continue to defend them despite the actions of the Alessian Order that arose and all but destroyed these remarkable creatures.

Oh, scoff if you must. Go ahead. I've suffered worse. But take a moment and at least consider what I've presented. Then ask yourself, why do the minotaurs guard these ancient Imperial sites? Maybe in that question, you'll come to appreciate the minotaurs—at least a little.


	50. Order of the Hour

By Exordor Vasidius, Sermonizer, Priest of Akatosh

The Order of the Hour is one of the oldest knightly orders in the Empire. It was born early in the life of the Empire, during the First Era, and eventually faded into obscurity during the Second Era. It was founded by Ennon Decan as an order of knights dedicated to Akatosh, though originally it drew its members from the priesthood and military alike.

The most recent incarnation of the Order of the Hour was established in 2E 432 by the warrior-priest of Akatosh, Cavor Merula, in response to the collapse of the Second Empire and the coming of the Longhouse Emperors. Fearing for the safety of the Dragon God priesthood and wanting to protect the Cathedral of Akatosh and its many historic and religiously significant treasures, Cavor gathered a few devoted and trusted fellow priests and dedicated himself and his brothers to the defense of the Cathedral. On that day, the Order of the Hour was reborn.

Soon, devout soldiers and warrior-priests in service to Akatosh began to flock to the Order's banner. The feared retribution against the Divines by the Longhouse Emperors never materialized, however, and the Order of the Hour transformed into a small but elite unit of bodyguards devoted to the Cathedral and its resident Primate, the leader of the Akatosh faith. In many ways, the Order of the Hour developed into a mostly ceremonial organization, although they maintained their training and combat readiness. When the occasional threat did strike from the shadows, the Order was prepared.

Take, for example, the Kvatch Bread Riots of 2E 467. The common folk, fearful and angry due to the Red Wheat blight that devastated crops for the second year in a row, decided that Akatosh and his priests weren't doing enough to rectify the situation. Gruff Bojour led an ax- and torch-bearing mob to the very steps of the Cathedral, intent on inflicting violence and making their displeasure known. But the Order of the Hour was ready for the assault, and Sister Severa and her warrior-priests slaughtered half the crowd before even a single torch had been thrown. The Primate promised to pray to end the tribulation, and by the next season the blight had run its course.

Other examples of the bravery and dedication of the Order of the Hour exist, including saving Primate Phrastus from an assassin's blade in 2E 540 and rescuing a caravan of priests and pilgrims from bandits in 2E 561. The Order has never wavered from its vow to serve and protect the Cathedral, and by extension, the priests and worshipers who occupy the holy place.

In 2E 480, a writ from the Primate of Akatosh authorized the Order to form into an army during times of religious emergencies. Answering only to religious authority, the militarized Order took to the walls of Kvatch to protect the city from a horde of brigands led by the charismatic Orc marauder, Baz Swordbreaker. Thanks to the efforts of the Order, the brigands were defeated and the city saved. Immediately thereafter, the army disbanded and the Order returned to its regular duties at the Cathedral.

Recruits to the Order must be devout followers of Akatosh, unmarried so that they may devote themselves fully to the Order and its intense regimens. While the Order began as a small group of warrior-priests, the organization has recently broadened its acceptance criteria so that non-clergy can undertake the vows. Once indoctrinated into the Order, members undergo enhanced training in combat and skills related to keeping the Cathedral safe.

When the Gold Coast isolated itself from Cyrodiil after the Empire collapsed and the Three Banners War began, Artorius Ponticus, Primate of Kvatch, immediately set out to bolster the power and scope of the Order of the Hour. He instructed Commander Marcus Scipio to increase the size of the Order and set about expanding the Order's responsibilities beyond the boundaries of the Cathedral and into the rest of the city of Kvatch. This was done, as the Primate has said on numerous occasions, "To reinforce the capabilities of the Kvatch Guard in these dangerous and troubling times." As anyone can plainly see, the Primate has only the best interests of Kvatch and its people in mind.

With recent threats against the city and the Cathedral, the Count of Kvatch has granted the Primate of Akatosh emergency powers to once again convert the Order into an army. Today, the Order of the Hour boasts the largest force in the history of the organization. With a mix of devoted warrior-priests and dedicated soldiers of faith filling its growing ranks, the Order now maintains the safety and keeps the peace of not only the Cathedral of Akatosh's grounds, but of all of Kvatch as well. No matter how chaotic things get on the other side of Varen's Wall, on the Kvatch side, the Order has things well in hand.


	51. Pirate Queen of the Gold Coast

By Midara Salviticus, Historian, University of Gwylim

The Gold Coast has undergone some radical changes since Varen Aquilarios led his rebellion against the Longhouse Emperor Leovic in 2E 576. First, the region's inhabitants banded together to build Varen's Wall, as discussed in greater detail in my treatise of the same name. The protective boundary basically separated the Gold Coast from the Colovian Highlands and served to keep the area safe from Imperial retaliation and other external threats. Second, the region took advantage of the rebellion to declare its independence from Cyrodiil. These two events established the Gold Coast as an isolated haven from the troubles that plague the rest of the continent - but not without setting up challenges of a different sort.

In 2E 577, just as the last stones were being places to complete Varen's Wall and the Imperial Navy was away dealing with the rebellion taking place to the north and east, a fleet of merchant warships and pirate vessels sailed into Anvil harbor. A white flag adorned with a red saber flew over each ship. Led by Fortunata ap Dugal, a shipping magnate in the Gold Coast Trading Company, the fleet took control of the docks and disembarked a company of sailors and pirate warriors that quickly overpowered the remaining troops loyal to the Imperial Prefect. In less than a day, Fortunata had taken control of Anvil, named herself Provincial Governor, and declared that the Gold Coast was now a free and independent state - from the Abecean Sea to Varen's Wall.

The self-proclaimed Provincial Governor, better known as the Pirate Queen to friends and enemies alike, used her connections as a high-ranking merchant lord of the Gold Coast Trading Company to build her base of power. She promised the pirates a safe haven and a share of wealth pouring though the region in exchange for their backing and support. The pirates, along with the merchant marines that had always been more loyal to Fortunata than to the company that employed them, gave the Pirate Queen the weapons she needed to take and maintain control of Anvil and the surrounding countryside.

In many ways, the truth is almost more unbelievable than the risque and outlandish adventure tales now appearing as broadsheets on the streets of Anvil. These bawdy stories follow the exploits of the barely fictitious Pirate Empress Thusa ap Lagud, and they've become quite popular. The actual Pirate Queen tolerates the tales, if now actively encouraging their publication on a regular basis.

Now the blood-red sabers on fields of white fly above Castle Anvil and the Anvil Lighthouse, and the Pirate Queen has turned Anvil into a "Free City." No military vessels from any alliance are allowed to approach the Anvil Docks. Instead, merchant ships from across Tamriel fill the wharf, happy to buy and sell cargo at bargain prices. Even the once-proud and influential Gold Coast Trading Company has acquiesced to the Pirate Queen's demands, deciding that profit is more important that arguing over respectability and who's in charge. In effect, the company does what the Pirate Queen tells it to.

It doesn't take a prophet to predict that the Pirate Queen has her sights set on Anvil's neighbor to the northeast, Kvatch. She said as much in her much-publicized declaration of Independence. With more pirates and buccaneers rallying to her flag every day, and with gold flowing from frightened nobles as protection money disguised as taxes, it's clear to see that Fortunata will soon have the resources to deal with Count Carolus and even Primate Artorius. It's just a matter of time. And the Pirate Queen has demonstrated over and over again that she can be very patient when it comes to letting her plans develop.

By all accounts, Fortunata rules Anvil with an iron fist. The Red Sails pirates serve as her private army, raiding, rampaging, and performing the duties of enforcers whenever and wherever she directs them. She may be a cruel and merciless dictator, but she keeps the region under control and prevents anarchy from running rampart. Can we really expect more than that from our rulers?


	52. Regarding Your Contract

As I've told you repeatedly, It's not difficult to summon Clavicus Vile, but I'll advise you again that doing so is a very bad idea. What happened with Azati was a rare thing, and who knows where it will go in another ten years? No one's ever accused a Daedric Prince of failing to play the long game.

The only reason Vile makes a deal with any mortal is to ensure they regret it. I don't know how Azati got the better of him, but you better believe it won't happen the same way twice. If you do nothing else, keep Azati's name out of it—and while we're on the subject, keep my name out of it too.

Still, your gold's no different from any other, and you do seem intent on this lunacy, so here are your instructions. Head to the overgrown shrine I marked on your map on the 1st of Morning Star and throw five hundred gold in the old empty well. If Clavicus Vile is in the mood to deal, he'll come for you soon enough.

Now, I know what you're thinking. Five hundred gold down a well? That's all you need to summon a Daedric Prince? If you were expecting to draw a bunch of sigils and offer a virgin sacrifice, my foolish friend, you're looking for the wrong Daedric Prince! Vile values gold and souls.

Reconsider. Be happy with what you have instead of obsessing over what you want. If you go through with this, and I fear you will, don't come to me when it all goes wrong.

Just remember I warned you.


	53. Reman's Fortune

The man who betrays fate's holy instrument doesn't live to enjoy the fruits of his labor.


	54. Resolutes of Stendarr Note

Rumors of things dwelling in these sewers brought our party down to investigate. I have personally seen all manner or foulness settle in these places, things at home in the filth, but today these tall tales have brought us nothing but trouble. Not the sort of trouble, however, that can be solved with a sword, unfortunately. I'm certain some argument could be made that it would be merciful for us to do so.

We've found dispossessed families collected in the tunnels, fleeing from misfortunes the world has delivered upon them. Most seem undeserving of the sad fate they find themselves in, but undoubtedly there are some bad seeds hidden among the wretches. We will carry out our due diligence and investigate this settlement for any lurking evils under the pretense of offering protection to these people. When we are satisfied that nothing untoward is being harbored down here, we will leave them to make what they will of their lives.

Stendarr grant them mercy.


	55. Rise of the Red Sails

Pirates pose a common problem to most merchants who ply their trade by the sea. But if you asked anyone other than a sailor to name even one crew responsible for their nautical woes, I wager you'd find them woefully at a loss. Few of these outlaws ever achieve the heights of infamy needed to reach the ears of inland folk. The Red Sails and their Pirate Queen, Fortunata ap Dugal, stand as the notable exception to this rule. Their notoriety stretches all along the Abecean Coast, to the point of being a household name and catchall bugaboo among residents of waterside towns. This widespread reputation is a relatively recent development.

Not all that long ago, the Red Sails were much more like their contemporaries—independent and unremarkable. Originally a band of raiders plundering a meager living along the Strid River, it was the arrival of Fortunata ap Dugal that marked the beginning of a new era for the humble raiders who would soon be known as the Red Sails. Using her position in the Gold Coast Trading Company to lure the raiders to her side, she soon began building her floating armada.

Under Fortunata's ambitious—some would say fearless—leadership, the raiders made their first voyage out to the Abecean Sea. In what can only be described as a suicidal assault, her smaller complement of raiders scaled a larger pirate vessel. Its captain considered the smaller river boat beneath his notice and made the mistake of ignoring its approach. With cunning and brutality, Fortunata and her crew seized the captain and forced his surrender. Offering to accept the oath of any of the enemy crew who would serve her as captain, she ordered the former captain and his officers strung up on the rigging and slaughtered the lot of them. With the blood of her rivals still seeping into the cloth, Fortunata raised the sails that would be her crew's calling card for years to come.

Using her connections as a merchant lord and the growing power of her Red Sails pirates, Fortunata turned a band of lawless miscreants into a feudal hierarchy of lords and vassals in the form of ship captains and their crews. After a number of successful boarding actions that resulted in the capture of pirate and merchant vessels alike, more and more captains began to voluntarily flock to her banner. The fearsome reputation of the Pirate Queen and her Red Sails spread like wildfire from port to port as the harrowing tales of their attacks became the main topic of discussion in smoky taverns and crowded inns.

When the time was right, Fortunata and her armada sailed into Anvil Harbor and grabbed control of the city. Now Provincial Governor Fortunata and her Red Sails enforcers claim the entire Gold Coast as their personal domain. It's estimated that the Red Sails have more than two dozen vessels under the blood-red sabers on a white banner. A navy in its own right, the Pirate Queen could lay claim to any port she desired. And without the Imperial Navy to oppose her, it's just a matter of time before she sets her sights beyond the Gold Coast. Anyone who thinks the Red Sails have reached the pinnacle of their ambition is simply living in denial.

Brace yourself Abeceans. A storm is coming.


	56. River Trolls Exterminator?

To All Red Sails Captains,

Which one of you imbeciles thought it was a good idea to lure a pair of river trolls into my secret escape tunnel? Yes, they keep anyone from getting curious and wandering into the tunnel from the entry cave, but they also make it difficult for me to come and go as I please!

The last time I decided to sneak out of the castle, I had to toss an entire bucket full of roast ducks into the far corner or I would have never gotten past those dreadful beasts.

Now, either come up with a method for me to safely avoid the trolls or get the damn creatures out of my tunnels! If they're still there the next time I need to use my secret passage, I'm going to lock the lot of you down there with them!

Fortunata ap Dugal


	57. Sanguine's Revelers Note

Hey! Hey you! Yeah, you! Someone handed you this because we're running dry! Vhartle's still walking straight enough to drive the cart to town, so if you've got requests write them down and pass them along.

Eight bottles of wine.

Make it thirty!

Can some of those be spiced wine?

Five barrels of Mead.

Sooooma.

Skooma?

Yeah, skooma for me too!

Bring some more company. Most of you are too sloshed to be any fun.

Temple of Dibella isn't that far away.

Oh, twenty potions of stamina restoration, too, then.

Idiot! This is supposed to be secret!

My lips are sealed!

Where's the fun in that?

Can I get a pint of ale?

No.

I'm so thirsty, just go already!

Two bottles of brandy.

Fresh pants.

And an echatere. It's just not a party without an echatere!


	58. Secret Note

Concerning the gardener.

Claims her husband was murdered by the Sweetroll Killer, but there's no evidence she was ever married. She appears to talk about fate. A lot. And she certainly knows how to fight. Saw her throttle a street-thief who tried to pick her pocket.

Code Location: Inside the Building Where Three Paths Meet.


	59. Shadowbanish Vintners Note

Guests, welcome!

We at the Shadowbanish Winery are pleased to have you join us for this exclusive tasting of our most special reserve. More than two dozen different vintages will be available over the course of the evening—with the opportunity to purchase your favorites in more substantial quantities, of course. We highly recommend you take advantage of this rare opportunity to acquire this stock, tax free. You won't find them at a lower price anywhere else, we assure you.

Please imbibe responsibly and mind your footing. These cool coves are perfect for preserving our stock, but the damp rock can be quite treacherous! We wouldn't want any potential customers to get washed out to sea.

Your Gracious Hosts


	60. Silver Dawn Contract

Purifier Gunthafur,

Thank you so much for accepting this sacred duty on behalf of your respected order. The Silver Dawn has often worked with the priests of the Divines to rid our world of the foul curse of lycanthropy, and we are anxious to employ your services once again.

The target this time is a young Nord woman who answers to the name of Hildegard. She wears a flower in her hair and often visits the Great Chapel of Dibella in Anvil. Don't let appearances deceive you, however. Beneath her unimposing frame beats the heart of a monster.

On her next visit to the chapel, I shall convince her to return to the wilderness of Skyrim that gave birth to her curse. Track her and dispatch her. Just do what you do best and a generous donation shall be made to your order.

Chanter Nemus


	61. Soggy Note

Concerning the one who calls himself a trader.

Dobias has been stealing documents, contracts, and other financial records from the Gold Coast Trading Company. We have yet to determine what he plans to do with the stolen information, but profit probably plays a part in his plans. Is this reason enough to want him dead? Maybe.

Code Location: South of the Bank.


	62. Solus Vertilus's Journal

Beldaburo is just in sight now. There doesn't appear to be much remaining of the above ground structure, but Ayleid substructures are known to have endured elsewhere, so I'll hope something remains that hasn't collapsed.  
* * *  
A tribe of minotaurs seems to have taken roost at the Ayleid ruins. Less than ideal, but perhaps it's a good sign. Beldaburo can't be in terrible shape if the minotaurs camp there.  
* * *  
This spyglass was a good investment. I've been keeping watch on the minotaurs from a safe distance for a few days now. I hoped that they were simply using it as a stop over on some migratory journey, but it seems they've made the location their home.  
* * *  
I thought I saw light from the ruins tonight. Not torchlight. Something more radiant and steady. Some lingering Ayleid magic? Something the minotaurs are doing?  
* * *  
I've come to the conclusion that these minotaurs haven't delved farther than the exterior of Beldaburo. They don't appear to be attempting to expand into the ruins at all, so what has drawn them to this place? I would have assumed that the minotaurs tend to congregate around Ayleid ruins out of a need for shelter, but that doesn't seem to be the case.  
* * *  
What if the minotaurs are drawn to these places on some instinctual level? Is there some throwback echo of memory from Morihaus's blood fueling their desire to linger in these places?

* * *  
The minotaurs have stepped away from the ruins this morning. I think they're hunting. I'm going to see if I was right about there being more to this ruin than just a few visible tumbled stones.  
* * *  
The light! It has a shape to it! That of a Man or Mer, but it slipped past the door before I could get a good look. I've yet to discern a means of opening the doorway thus far. I hope to figure it out before the minotaurs return from their hunt.


	63. Song of the Prowler

Setting sail from Hammerfell,  
On one bright and shining morn',  
We took the wind o' a bonny craft,  
And bore away from shore.  
And bore away from shore.

 

Their captain swore a bloody oath,  
His eyes all dark and fell.  
"Be ye pirate or privateer?"  
I swear we'll never tell.  
I swear we'll never tell.

 

We raid the ships out of Daggerfall,  
And plunder Bleakrock good.  
But we've friends enough in Haven,  
And throughout all Grahtwood.  
And throughout all Grahtwood.

 

Our Captain is an honest soul,  
She runs our ship so well.  
When asked if we are honest,  
I swear she'll never tell.  
I swear she'll never tell.

 

We've gathered plunder along the coasts,  
Yet we've sworn that we'll be good.  
Queen Ayrenn she never complains,  
As if she ever would.  
As if she ever would.

 

But where's our treasure you may ask?  
Buried deep or hidden well?  
Locked up tight in a treasure chest?  
I swear I'll never tell.  
I swear I'll never tell.


	64. Special Instructions

In two days, you are to leave your post as the bell tolls midnight and return no sooner than ten minutes later. Do not deviate or there will be consequences. You'll find your payment at the usual place.

Remember, this arrangement benefits everyone. Do not even think of breaking the vow you made to me. After all, I'd hate to see anything happen to your little ones.

Remember, two days from now, at midnight, until ten minutes have past. Don't mess this up.


	65. Suspicious Message

The Beautiful Darkness asked that we alter our drop locations for the next stage of research. Deposit the scrolls with your findings at these new locations around Kvatch. An accurate map requires all parts listed below.

Place your code at the bottom so the next runner can deliver it.

\- Wolf's Everlasting Stream  
\- Perch Above the Sport Fighters  
\- Eternal Knight  
\- Where We Gaze Down On the Streets


	66. Sweetroll Recipients

An associate and other individuals who I heard recently received a threatening sweetroll from the so-called "Sweetroll Murderer." There are probably others, but you can't expect me to do all the work and still get paid.

Dobias: A fellow member of the Gold Coast Trading Company. He's too nice for his own good. Not good at business at all. Probably targeted because of how annoyingly nice he is.

Louna: A feisty woman who married recently but then lost her husband to the Sweetroll Murderer. Now he's targeted her. Such a shame to lose such a tasty dish after she just became available.

Tuindal: Gorgeous eyes and pouty lips that you just want to eat with a spoon. This High Elf probably broke someone's heart. I know he broke mine! Ironically, he's a baker. I wonder who makes the better sweetroll?

Yarmia: Wood Elf beggar. Smells like four-mushroom stew that's been left to rot in the sun. As far as I'm concerned, the Sweetroll Murderer can have this one—stink and all!


	67. The Black Dragon

Rat Master,

I want your rats combing the docks and back alleys. I want them to listen and root through garbage and even rough up the locals if necessary. Do whatever it takes, but get me the information I desire—and get it for me yesterday! You have always supplied me with an endless array of rumors and gossip, much of it profitable. But now, when I need the ears and eyes of your rats the most, you tell me that the streets of Anvil and Kvatch have become eerily silent on this matter. Well, that is not acceptable, my old friend.

I need to know more about the mysterious and apparently extremely dangerous individual known as the "Black Dragon." Where did he come from? What does he want? Is he actually a he? And more to the point, what kind of threat does he pose to me and my profits? Don't make me change my good opinion of you and your operatives, my old friend. I'd hate to think that the infamous Rat Master has lost a step, that his network of spies and informers has suddenly grown cold. I'd hate to have to replace you after all these years of loyal and dedicated service simply because this Black Dragon has proven to be too elusive for you and the rats that whisper in your ears.

Let me help you out. Get you started on the right track, as it were. From what I've heard, the Black Dragon is a fearsome warrior clad in black plate armor who wields a long, wicked sword. This individual has been linked to the gruesome murders of a number of disreputable people—including at least one who has long been believed to be a member of the secretive Dark Brotherhood. Now, I have no qualms about someone dispatching those murderous bastards, but I want to make sure that the Black Dragon's predilections don't stray too far into my territory.

Now why are you still reading this letter? Send out your rats and get me the information I require. Now!

Fortunata, Provincial Governor of Anvil


	68. The Black Dragon's Journal

I haven't felt drawn to this journal in a long time, but recent events seem to have made me long for those days when I was truly happy. When I had a family that loved and trusted me. Not like these men and women of the Order. They respect me. They fear me. But they don't love anyone other than the Dragon God. And maybe Primate Artorius.

Before I donned the armor of the Black Dragon, I was simply a Silencer FOR the Dark Brotherhood. Now I'm the Black Dragon, Silencer OF the Dark Brotherhood and First Sword of the Order of the Hour. It's not a role I chose for myself. No, it's a role that the Brotherhood has thrust upon me. And one I happen to be very good at.

The woman known as Lyra Viria died at my hands. It was my last act as part of the Dark Brotherhood, my last act in a Sanctuary now long forgotten. After that I was no one and nothing for a time. Until I found the Order and became the Black Dragon.

I'm trying to find redemption in service to Akatosh, but has anything really changed? I'm still a murderer. I still feel damned. But now I'm killing those individuals marked for death by Akatosh himself—or, at least, by his chosen representatives in Tamriel. I suppose that's some kind of improvement.

Once I was cocksure and confident in my deeds and actions. This was true in the Dark Brotherhood (until it wasn't) and it was true as the Black Dragon. Now, however, I find that I'm filled with a sort of discontent that makes me do something I've never been really good at—asking questions. I need to think about this and perhaps have another conversation with the Primate.


	69. The Black Dragon's Journal, Part 2

I sought out the ruins of Knightsgrave after the Enclave of the Hourglass began to feel too confining, too full of life. I don't deserve to mingle with so many vibrant, living beings. Death has become more than my vocation—it's a vital part of my life. So why not linger in this place of the dead?

* * *  
I admired the statues on the stairs that descended into these ruins. The founders of the Order of the Hour were great and faithful warriors. For a time, I was proud to count myself among their number. But now? Now I'm not so sure.

* * *  
It seems that the founders or whoever came after them set out to protect this place from unwanted visitors. Obviously, the braziers serve as a key of sorts to open the way into the Path of Order. I just need to figure out how best to turn this key.

* * *  
Determining the order in which to ignite the braziers was child's play. I'm surprised that more people haven't found their way into these hallowed depths.

* * *  
There must be another way to gain entry into the ruins. How else have these minotaurs made their way down here? I had to kill one of the proud beasts when it surprised me. After that, I took great pains to avoid the creatures. After all, no one has ordered me to murder them. And, I suppose, they serve as guardians of a sort. Why not allow them to continue in that role?

* * *  
Just beyond the armory, I encountered a chamber dedicated to the Order's original First Sword. I admit I feel a certain connection to Justia. I wonder if she'd smile upon one such as I for taking up her weapon?

* * *  
I spent a long time praying in the circle of pillars known as the Paragon's Crown. Maybe Akatosh heard my plea, for I soon discovered a tunnel into an even more ancient portion of the ruins. It appears that the Order built their original home atop an ancient cave that harkens back to a more ancient time. An impressive and, dare I say it, frightening statue of Akatosh dominates the cave. I can only assume that this place owes its existence to the Alessian Order and their efforts to raise Akatosh above all other gods. Even the scattered cages hint at darker rites than those practiced by Primate Artorius and his ilk in the Cathedral of Kvatch.

* * *  
The Primate, the Order, the Brotherhood—damn them all for turning me into what I've become! Perhaps down here, in the shadow of Akatosh's most fearsome presence, I'll finally discover who I'm truly meant to be.


	70. The Black Hand

My in-depth investigation of the clandestine organization known only as the Dark Brotherhood has been a long and difficult process. But after years of research, countless interviews, and no small amount of good luck, I've finally been able to put together a profile of the assassin cult's ruling body—the notorious Black Hand. While much of what follows has been augmented by theory and conjecture, the basis upon which I constructed the profile is undeniably factual and true.

So, what group of individuals is strong enough to command the assassins of the Dark Brotherhood? A group called the Black Hand. Like any hand, the group consists of five members: four fingers and a thumb, as it were. The members corresponding to the fingers are called the Speakers, while the member representing the thumb is called the Listener. These are titles and ranks, and as ridiculous as they may sound to anyone not steeped in the lore of the cult, the assassins take these terms very seriously.

Now, I need to explain an even stranger concept. It will sound unbelievable, and it may very well be nothing but a legend used to keep the lesser assassins in line, but from everything I've been able to uncover, the cult holds fast to this concept. They claim that a near-deific figure known as either the Shadow Matriarch, the Dark Woman, or the Night Mother leads the Dark Brotherhood. Apparently, no one ever sees this Dark Woman. Instead, she whispers commands to the Listener, who then selects one of the Speakers to pass the commands along. And, yes, most of these commands relate to murder.

What does the Listener hear? Details, as you can imagine, are sketchy, but an educated guess allows us to assume that the Dark Woman provides either the name of the client or the target that has been named for the kill. The Listener passes this information on to one of the Speakers, who then either personally selects an assassin to carry out the deed or provides the information to a minor functionary to assign the contract.

Now, as far as I can tell, the assassins don't all gather in one place. Instead, the cult divides its members into small, self-sufficient units known as either Havens, Sanctuaries, Shelters, or Assassin Ports. Again, details on these topics are often fluid and even contradictory, but I have done my best to make sense of the stillness within the noise. The leader of these Havens, which seem to be established in specific geographic locations as to spread the assassin's reach far and wide, is either called a Dame or a Matron (although one source referred to her as a Widow, but the other names were much more common in my research). The Speaker can pass along orders to this subordinate and have her select the assassin best-suited to carry out the deed.

Finally, I was able to ascertain that each Speaker commands a personal assassin. For truly special missions, I can only assume. I'm not sure if these personal assassins are considered wrists or knuckles or some other body part, but I did learn that they are possibly granted the title of Quieter, or maybe Husher, or even Silencer. Something menacing and ridiculous like that. These are supposedly the best of the best, master killers without peer. Whether they constitute as members of the Black Hand or not, I was never able to determine, nor did I come across information concerning how they receive their orders.

The Dark Brotherhood. The Black Hand. Melodramatic names for a demented cult of killers—but they are killers, all the same.


	71. The Blade of Woe

Observations by Green-Venom-Tongue

The Blade of Woe. My happiest day since emerging from the egg was when the Speaker granted me access to this superb weapon.

Where does the Blade of Woe go when it's not in my hand? My Brothers and Sisters assume we share a single weapon, but how can such a thing be? It has never not appeared when I called for it. The mysteries of our Dread Father, I suppose.

Nothing is more satisfying than performing a perfect kill with a perfect blade.

Tanek followed me once when I went to complete a contract. He tried to call for the Blade of Woe at the exact moment that I needed it. His attempt at a prank failed, but the twin kills we completed were most impressive.

I asked a Speaker once if I could sheathe the Blade of Woe in my own scabbard. She said the blade's scabbard was sacred, and I wasn't fit to possess such a thing. She knows me too well.

The Blade of Woe sends souls severed by its sharpness to the Void. But so does poison, my sword, a dire wolf's jaws, and a perfectly timed falling boulder. Even so, I prefer to wield the blade when I can. Hail Sithis!

I noticed that Kor rarely calls for the Blade of Woe. He seems to prefer to make his kills more challenging by actually engaging in prolonged battles with his targets. Does this make Kor a bad assassin? Probably not. But to each his own, I suppose.


	72. The Butcher of Bravil

The Journal of Captain Jena Apinia

I've been called a lot of things during my career. I've received accolades from my friends and allies, been branded with curses and other foul descriptors by my enemies, but no title has been more hurtful and undeserved than the one I carry with me now—the one I'll most likely carry with me to my grave. They call me "the Butcher of Bravil."

The war in Cyrodiil was in full swing when suddenly a new danger appeared to threaten Imperial City. My soldiers were enjoying a much-deserved break from battle when chains fell from the sky. Some claimed one of the alliances had called upon strange and deadly magic to harass Imperial City, while others were sure that one Daedric Prince or another was behind this latest indignation. For my part, I didn't care if it was Queen Ayrenn or Molag Bal. I just knew I had to get the soldiers under my charge away from there as quickly as possible.

The goal before me was simple: Survive. Not die trying to defend the Imperial City from an enemy we didn't understand. It was to live, to fight another day when victory was more assured. Some call me coward for running as I did, but I saved a full legion's worth of soldiers with my actions. Of course, fleeing from the city as quickly as we did, we were ill prepared for surviving in the wilds beyond the city walls. We needed to regroup, resupply, and determine a prudent course of action. With these things in mind, I ordered my legion to head south and away from the city.

Bravil is a squalid little town south of the Imperial City, located on the banks of the Niben Bay. To say that Bravil is a poor town is an understatement. The people there would be happy to be risen to that economic level. They lived in wooden shacks stacked one atop the other, like skeevers in a burrow. They didn't have much, but what they did have was desperately needed by me and my legion. It was their duty to aid us, for the welfare and glory of the Empire. I explained that quite succinctly to Bravil's mayor.

And Bravil's mayor graciously refused my request. "The food stores we have, pitiful though they may be, are vital to the survival of Bravil and its people," he explained. "Surely you understand why I must say no, Captain, and humbly ask that you and your soldiers move on."

To say that the man infuriated me is like saying that the Skald King is only a slightly drunk fool. But I understood his dilemma. If I took the town's food supply, he'd have to watch as half his citizens slowly died of starvation as the cold of winter settled over the town and the surrounding area. The solution was simple, though it grieved me to give the order. My soldiers would have to eliminate half the town's population. That would give the remaining citizens a chance to scrounge up enough food to make it through the winter.

Here I thought I was helping these pathetic creatures, but did they thank us? No. The rest of the town rose up against us. In the end, we were forced to slaughter a good deal more than half—including the mayor, whom I hold responsible for this entire situation. We gathered up the supplies—as well as a number of valuable items to help finance our efforts—and took our leave of Bravil.

It was a few days later, when we approached another small settlement, that I discovered that word of what happened at Bravil had begun to spread, and the story had grown all out of proportion. They were calling me "the Butcher of Bravil," regarding me as a sort of villain who went out of her way to kill innocent civilians. They know nothing about war and the hard decisions that a commander must make in the field. Would they rather my soldiers starved? How would we protect them and defend Cyrodiil then? It also came to my attention that Queen Ayrenn had sent one of her damned Eyes to track me down, recover the items we acquired, and make me pay for my so-called war crime.

I sent the bulk of my legion back to rendezvous with the rest of the army outside the Imperial City. Meanwhile, I took a small squad and made for the Gold Coast. I would face the Queen's Eye in a place of my own choosing. Then we'll see whose justice actually prevails.


	73. The Deal

Read these carefully and do not deviate in any way. If you fail to follow these steps as listed, I cannot guarantee your safety or return. Remember, you came to me, and you insisted.

Before you leave on the night you plan to set out, write your plea upon any scroll made from lamb hide and only lamb hide. If you value your sanity, keep your plea short and make sure there is no room for clever reinterpretation. He draws great pleasure from using your written words against you.

Note: To write your plea, you must use the piece of charcoal I lent you. It was retrieved from a fire which was used by a one-legged lizardman to cook an albino deer. Good Luck finding another one.

With your plea written and the scroll and sacrifice in hand, approach the ring of stones on the third night of any month under the sign of the Lord, the Ritual, or the Tower. Any word spoken aloud will ensure your plea will not be heard, so come alone and stay silent.

Wait for any point where the clouds cover the moon and look for the pertinent creststone, which will vary based on the sign. You will know the creststone by the way it glows without the moonlight. Place the sacrifice we discussed before the stone, atop the scroll on which you've written your plea.

The next part is important and tricky, so rehearse ahead of time. Once the sacrifice is placed atop the scroll before the stone, you must draw the sigil on the stone (remember, only pig's blood is an acceptable medium) and finish drawing it before the moon shines again. Draw the sigil, stand, and wait.

If your plea will be heard, he'll come looking for you soon enough. If he doesn't come galloping out of a rock, before the moonlight returns, your attempt was a failure and you must wait until the next third day to try again, with a new sacrifice.

Also, since I know you're already thinking it, do not reuse your sacrifice! He will know, and there are few things that make him crankier. You do not want him to be cranky.

Finally, on the night you go to petition him, do not wear anything purple. He finds the color alternately offensive and beguiling, depending on the day, and there's no telling how he might react to it. Trust me when I say neither reaction is one you're going to enjoy.

That's it. If worst comes to worst and you end up as a couch cushion or rolling around in a giant wheel of cheese for the next five hundred years, don't say I didn't warn you. I hope I never see you again.


	74. The Five Tenets (annotated)

With annotations by Speaker Terenus

Brothers and Sisters, we are predators, but we are not animals. We bow to no law of nation or alliance, but we have rules and morals. Break or neglect to follow these Tenets at your own peril—expulsion from the Brotherhood is the least of the punishments awaiting such reprehensible traitors.

Obey these Five Tenets and your devotion shall never come into question.

Tenet 1. Never dishonor the Night Mother. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis.  
Revere the Night Mother, for our Unholy Matron serves as the source of our contracts, the life-blood of the Brotherhood.

Tenet 2. Never betray the Dark Brotherhood or its secrets. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis.  
We thrive in the shadows. To cast light on those shadows is a blasphemy before Sithis and the Night Mother.

Tenet 3. Never disobey or refuse to carry out an order from a Dark Brotherhood superior. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis.  
To listen and to obey. The very first lesson taught to every member of the Brotherhood.

Tenet 4. Never steal the possessions of a Dark Brother or Dark Sister. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis.  
To steal from a Brother or Sister is to steal from the Night Mother. Sithis hates such thieves.

Tenet 5. Never kill a Dark Brother or Dark Sister. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis.  
We are family, and family doesn't murder family. Unless a member has been cast out, his or her life is as sacred as your own.

Know that it is not your kin who will come to judge you should you fail to uphold this compact. Remember the story of the wraith, told to every new initiate. This is more than mere fable. The Wrath of Sithis is real, and he sends his wraith to punish any Brother or Sister who breaks the Tenets.


	75. The Glint in the Night

Of all the tools available to an assassin, one weapon truly stands out as unique to the Brothers and Sisters of the Dark Brotherhood. Known as the Blade of Woe (and, obliquely, as the Night Mother's Kiss) the otherwise simple dagger is a symbol of their order and icon of their dark patrons. The dagger, named for the apocryphal blade wielded by the Night Mother when she supposedly sacrificed her own children, is made available to the devotees of the Dark Brotherhood to carry out their grisly work. I have heard conflicting reports that the entire Brotherhood somehow shares a single blade and that each individual weapon is crafted upon the pattern of the original. I suspect the latter is closer to the truth than the former, but the legend persists.

The Blade of Woe, sacred to the Dark Brotherhood's patron deity, the Dread Father Sithis, supposedly contains a special power to send the souls of those it kills directly to the Void. My own studies of similar artifacts have found no evidence of any such magicka. It's possible only a follower of Sithis can invoke these alleged properties, but I find it more likely that the blade simply holds special religious significance to its wielder, but no practical application in these regards. And since the victims of the Dark Brotherhood meet their ends in every way imaginable, including by poison and sabotage, they must believe, at least, that every death they inflict somehow finds its way to Sithis.

Given the secretive nature of the Dark Brotherhood, acquiring information is all but impossible and research on the subject is suspect at best and extremely hard to come by. I hope that by bringing this topic out into the open, other diligent scholars will investigate these mysterious killers and help to remove the shroud of mystery that surrounds their beliefs and act

[intentionally cut off here]


	76. The Grand Sermonizer's Journal

Efforts continue according to the plan. After a few false starts, our agent was able to kill a suspected member of the Dark Brotherhood today. We had hoped to question the murderer, but our agent was rather eager in her application of dagger and sword.  
* * *  
I've prepared a series of sermons that will fill the streets of Kvatch with a fear and loathing of the hated Dark Brotherhood. That cult is an abomination in the eyes of the Divines and everyone must be made aware of it! My Sermonizers will spread the word and cast light upon the shadows that hide those murderers.  
* * *  
I have specifically asked our agent NOT to kill the next murderer she comes across. I've prepared my interrogation hall and am ready to draw the truth out of the murderer—by whatever means become necessary. Akatosh guide my hand!  
* * *  
The Black Dragon brought a wounded but still mostly breathing murderer to me today. I look forward to applying several proven techniques that are guaranteed to make the murderer talk. Before the day ends, I'll have the location of whatever hole the Dark Brotherhood hides in. Then we can really step up our effort to eliminate their blight from the Gold Coast.  
* * *  
Akatosh forgive my clumsiness, but I have failed. The murderer was more stubborn and resistant than I expected. He refused to tell me anything of worth, no matter what tortures I submitted his physical form to. Needless to say, I was thorough in my application of pain. He suffered greatly before he finally expired. No matter. I'm sure the Black Dragon will secure another specimen before long.  
Strange. Something has disturbed the murderer's corpse in the interrogation hall. Maybe Akatosh has answered my prayer and sent another murderer for me to question. Well, I wouldn't want to keep whoever it is waiting.


	77. The Lie We Tell Ourselves

Dearest Mother,

I remember your name. I have surrounded myself with lying liars and have become a liar myself, but in my lies I see the manifestation of your domain as clearly as the blood we spill in the shadows of a secret murder. So even though I wish to scream truth in their faces or whisper your name into the ear of the dying, I tell myself that the secret is my faith, my joy and not a blasphemy.

Yet just once I wish for you to speak to me. Why not me? I have listened for you always. I cloaked myself in you long before they called me Dark Sister. I was the Chimera, ever shifting and changing and lying a thousand thousand lies for you. To be seen by you. To hear you. They call themselves Listener, but no one listens for your whisper with more hope and desire than I do.

I have walked in accordance with your Arts, shrouded in Eight Shadows. I have lived lies and ended lives, not for the Dread Father but for you. They call themselves Speakers, but no one has spoken your words with as much conviction as I do.

Do you see the shrine that I have built? A shrine of my body. Every face a lie, the envy both elicited and felt. The mastery of seduction. The embrace and instillment of fear, the betrayal of family and truth. The murder of others, the murder of self. The insatiable want. The fury I feel and release and feel again at you, you, you when all treasures are nothing but lies.

Dearest Mother, I remember your name. But I will speak the lie and love the lie if you wish. Perhaps that is your lesson. The treasure is the lie.


	78. The Lost Fort Faleria

Legend has it that in the early days of Cyrodiil, in the wake of the Alessian Doctrines, there were three lords that formed a regency council over the Kingdom of Kvatch. The name of that king and two of the lords are lost to history. Lord Faleria's name, however, is whispered in the night as a cautionary tale of how far one would go to protect those they love.

As a young man, Lord Faleria secretly, and to the shame of his family, fell in love with an Elven scholar, wise in the ways of dark magic and necromancy. The Nenalata Ayleids swore fealty to the Empire, but their people were still an unwelcome sight in polite society. Together, they pored over lost secrets, hoping to find a way to be together always. They married in secret and enjoyed a few short years of happiness, which ended with an Imperial decree.

To hide his wife from the purge, Lord Faleria expanded his fortress into the underground tunnels beneath the structure. They enlarged the space with magic, the sweat of hired workers, and the help of a tribe of minotaurs. It was to be a grand underground complex to match those of his wife's Ayleid ancestors, and equally as brutal.

As each wing was completed, they secretly had the workers put to death. Some were buried. Some had the life drawn out of them to extend the lives of Lord Faleria and his wife. Of these, some were raised as undead guardians. After all, Lord Faleria could not allow rumors and secrets to get out, and dead guardians spread no tales.

As the complex grew, so did Lord Faleria's family. He swore to do anything to protect his children—these Elven children—from death or banishment at the hands of the Empire. It was during the birth of their third child that Lady Faleria died. In mourning, his lordship erected a great brass tomb in the tunnels, sealing his love away and promising to do anything to protect her children from the religious zealots of the Empire.

At this time, Lord Faleria delved deeper into the study of dark arts, formulating wicked magic fueled by a darkness from some far realm that consumed all things good and light. He learned to channel the power and found it all but limitless.

Lord Faleria edged closer and closer to madness after the death of his Elven wife, though he could never explain his troubles to his peers in the outside world. To keep his Elven family a secret, he continued to use disposable labor to expand their realm and give them new comforts.

The children grew into adults, rarely seeing sunlight. Well into adulthood, his youngest son could not take his confinement any longer. He managed to escape, and did so easily and often. Inevitably, as these things happen, the son fell in love with a merchant's daughter. Soon, she was with child. The girl's family, horrified at the child's Elven traits, forced the young woman to confess that her lover was Lord Faleria's son. Horrified at being discovered, Lord Faleria took his grandson and hid him with the rest of the family.

The Empire was at his gate within days, with charges ranging from treason to giving aid to the enemy. For these crimes against the Empire, he had no defense. But he had prepared a response for this day. In his madness, Lord Faleria performed a dark ritual. If he could not be with his family, he would rather destroy everything he created—and the Imperial Army along with it.

The night came. The ritual concluded. It would take only one final gesture to consume the entire castle in eternal darkness. At the final moment, a hand fell upon his shoulder. His son was behind him, standing with the rest of the family.

It was too late. The very shadows crawled like smoke from the ground, dissolving objects, walls, men, and mer. Some formed man-like shapes and attacked the besieging army from within. Others opened up like rifts, and the world fell inside them.

When it was over, only Lord Faleria remained amid the freshly made ruins. As the legends say, he buried his children and grandchild on the surface, where he never allowed them to go. Then he retreated into the hole in the ground, sealing it behind him.

For most great men, the walls and monuments survive far longer than their name. For Lord Faleria, the location of his fort is lost to time, but his name remains.


	79. The Minotaur Song

Oh minotaur, oh minotaur,  
A beast of rage and ignoble glaring.  
Oh minotaur, oh minotaur,  
None can deny your noble bearing.

Around Imperial ruins you gather,  
Eternal guardians with hooves and horn.  
What memories lead you to path there,  
Is it Belharza or the Empire that you mourn?

Oh minotaur, oh minotaur,  
Are you monster, Mer, or Man?  
Oh minotaur, oh minotaur,  
Tell us how you fit into the Divine's plan!


	80. The Mysterious Mermaid of Anvil

For as long as Anvil has stood upon the Gold Coast, it has been a city of adventure and allure. Legend and mysteries abound, filling its streets and taverns with tales from all around the world. One of these stories doesn't originate in some far-off land. Anvil has its own incarnation of the city's beauty and charm, hewn from stone older than any lain in the building foundations—the Mermaid of Anvil.

With no inscription decorating its base and no certificate of origin stored in the city records, the Mermaid remains a blank canvas upon which locals and visitors alike have painted their own picture. Her carefree repose and immodest attitude have earned her a multitude of names and titles—some of which are not suitable to be printed here. Whether you know her as the wistful Brine Maiden, the Leggy Lass, the Salty Serenader, the Stone Seductress, or a hundred other monikers, the Mermaid of Anvil never fails to leave a lasting impression on all who gaze upon her.

What about the Mermaid so manages to enthrall us? The gentle curves of pale rock create a fancy figure, certainly, but was she laid bare for the sake of art? The sheer scale of her grandeur rivals many statues erected to the Divines, the royals of Tamriel, or the Daedric Princes themselves, leading some to speculate that the Mermaid was once a figure of similar stature to her unknown creators. Could our fair Mermaid actually be a long forgotten god or an unrecognized aspect of one of the Divines? Certainly the more scandalizing rumors suggest she might be Azura as she appeared to some ancient sea-dwelling civilization, but it's hard to imagine the Sload being capable of making something of such beauty. And what does that leave? The dreugh? No, more believable to imagine that Sea Elves once had scales and gills.

We know so little about who or what the Mermaid truly represents, and even less about who may or may not have created her. There's no credible record of who painstakingly carved and polished the great stone that gave birth to our patron beauty. Many have attempted to explain the origin of the Mermaid, or even assert that some long lost ancestor was responsible for her design. No matter how reputable the source, however, further investigation always reveals the statue to predate any such claims. In fact, the most recent archaeological study indicates that the Mermaid easily pre-dates any structure in Anvil, indicating that at least a few of her admirers were so taken with her as to set down roots in her shadow and build the city around her fine form. Would she be amused or embarrassed to know an entire city has sprung up to gaze upon her? One look at her coy expression says that even if she could answer, she'd never dispel her air of mystery.

And that's why the people of Anvil love her.


	81. The Primate: Before the Light

No one in Kvatch, the Gold Coast, or the shattered remnants of the Empire demonstrates more devotion and piety than Artorius Ponticus, the Primate of Akatosh—and he'll be the first to point this out to you if you aren't savvy enough to see the holy truth for yourself. But how did so humble an individual achieve such an august position in the religious hierarchy? For that tale, we need to go back to where Artorius first turned to Akatosh for guidance and strength—on the streets of the Imperial City in 2E 542.

The fourth son of the wealthy Ancrus family, Artorius grew up without a clear place in the world. His eldest brother was being groomed to take control of the family's major holdings throughout the core of the Empire, while the brother that was next in line was being trained to care for the family's distant holdings in Hammerfell. The third son, Angelus, was already a young officer in the Imperial Legion with a promising military career ahead of him. By tradition, that left a life in service to the Divines as the natural path for Artorius to follow. Unfortunately, young Artorius was about as spiritual and devout as the proverbial lusty Argonian maid of song and legend. He wanted nothing to do with prayer and sacrifice.

Instead, young Artorius found himself drawn to two dangerous preoccupations: first, he was fascinated with events happening in the Breton kingdoms, specifically the ongoing battles between Emeric of Wayrest and Durcorach of the Reach. He scoured Imperial City for anyone who could tell him more about what was happening there, and usually found them in the most unsavory sections of the city. Second, he started to run with employees of the notorious crime boss, Vodunius Monrius, much to the chagrin of his father and older brothers. And it wasn't long before he was carrying messages and taking on other errands for Vodunius and his lieutenants.

Never one to miss an opportunity to teach a lesson, Primate Artorius speaks candidly about this dark time in his past. "I was full of fury and vinegar back then," he said with a laugh when I interviewed him while researching this book. "I was angry and without direction, looking for something, but I didn't know what it was. That's a recipe for either finding your passion or losing your way. Lucky for me, Akatosh had a plan."

That plan, the Primate believes, began on a day much like most during that period of young Artorius's life. He started his rounds for the crime boss, collecting gold from the various merchants and artisans working in and around the Market District. The daily tithe was something of a sacred ritual for both those who were forced to pay the price and those who gathered the gold that filled Vodunius's coffers. Artorius was just one of a dozen young men and women who did odd jobs for the crime boss and his lieutenants, but he relished his role and the excitement that accompanied it. At least, he did until the inevitable occurred.

When Artorius entered the shop of the Khajiiti baker, Sticky Paws, he found more waiting for him than the gold he expected to collect for Vodunius's daily tithe. Four officers of the city's Guard were on hand, ready to arrest the young noble and end his recently started life of crime. "Your father is greatly disappointed in you, Artorius," the Guard Captain said. "You've broken the laws of the Empire, if that gold in your pouch is any indication. You haven't left us with many options."

At that moment, when he should have been frightened and anxious, Artorius could only manage to conjure up a single emotion—he hated his father with an intensity that burned as hot as Sticky Paws' ovens. The officer of the Guard explained that they could bring the full weight of the law down upon Artorius and toss him in a dungeon cell for a year and a day, or they could come up with a way for him to make amends for the crimes he had committed, but Artorius could barely hear over the pounding of his own blood.

"As a favor to your father," the officer decided, "we'll go with the latter. A year with the priests of the Divines should help set you back on the straight and narrow." And just like that, Artorius found himself back in the grasp of a destiny he had tried so hard to avoid. He was sent to perform penance with the priests at the Temple of the Divines.


	82. The Primate: Finding Faith

The Temple of the Divines was the last place Artorius Ancrus ever expected to wind up. But as the year 2E 542 was drawing to a close, that's exactly where the young Imperial found himself. He was serving penance for crimes committed while working for the crime boss Vodunius in Imperial City. Thanks to his father's wealth and influence, Artorius avoided a dungeon cell. As for serving in the temple, he was sure that was his dear father's idea.

As the fourth son, Artorius had been promised to serve the Divines, and despite the young man's best efforts to avoid that fate, it seemed he was destined for a religious life. "I'll serve my year and a day," Artorius told the priest who was his jailer and would become his mentor, Ilavius Alfeno, "but after that I'm out of here." The old priest just bowed and began to introduce his charge to religious life.

Artorius's life at the temple became a daily mix of opposing states of activity, from frenzied labor to stillness bordering on inertia. Given an endless array of chores that included cleaning, food preparation, and helping to care for the shrines of the Divines filled each day, punctuated by periods of study, meditation, and prayer, Artorius was soon too busy to maintain his anger at his father. And once his anger subsided, he began to actually hear the words of the priests and learn the tenets of the Divines.

For someone who wanted nothing to do with religion, Artorius quickly became fascinated with the tales and tenets of the Divines. From Arkay to Dibella, Stendarr to Julianos, he visited every shrine in turn and questioned the priests endlessly about their holy sphere and rituals. Of all the Divines, however, the one that seemed to attain a special place in Artorius's imagination was Akatosh, the Dragon God of Time. Perhaps it was Akatosh's place at the head of the pantheon that first attracted Artorius. Or maybe the qualities associated with him, or the tales related to his role as the god-defender of the Empire. Whatever the impetus, the young noble appeared to have found his faith.

When Jonas Coventine, Primate of Akatosh, arrived for his annual visit from Kvatch, he took an immediate liking to the young Artorius. After leading the temple in worship, the Primate invited Artorius to a private meeting. Neither Jonas nor Artorius ever revealed the details of the meeting, but shortly after that audience, Artorius pledged himself to the Divines. When his probation was over, he took the vows of the priesthood and devoted himself to serving Akatosh.


	83. The Primate: Rise to Glory

After Akatosh "called him out of obscurity," as Primate Artorius has explained numerous times over the years, the young man became a priest of the Divines. He continued to serve in the temple, learning more and more as he split his time among the eight shrines that made up the holy place. His work and dedication, along with his increasing reputation for performing good works, once again brought him to the attention of Primate Jonas of Kvatch.

Artorius longed to be assigned to the Cathedral of Akatosh in Kvatch. He had heard tales of the "grand palace of the Dragon God" and believed there was no other place in all of Tamriel where he could best serve and worship Akatosh. He set out to get the posting, using every avenue at his disposal to make himself enticing to the high priests and the Primate of the Cathedral. In the end, it was the event that came to be called "the Miracle of the First Shrine" that did the trick.

As the story has it, when Casiras the Hunter brought his young son to the temple, the shaft of an arrow jutting from his chest, Priest Artorius immediately went to his aid. Artorius led the grieving father to Akatosh's shrine, and even though the child had clearly been killed by the terrible wound, he began to pray. According to reports, Artorius prayed for three straight days, never pausing to eat, or drink, or even sleep. At the end of the third day, the priest began to speak rapidly in a tongue that no one in the temple could understand. Then, it is said, a burst of brilliant light emanated from the shrine. It struck Artorius and flowed through his body, down his arms, and into his hands before passing on to the dead boy. When the glow subsided, the arrow was gone, the wound was healed, and the child was alive. Everyone said that Akatosh had answered Artorius's prayers.

Word of this reputed miracle spread like wildfire throughout the Empire, quickly reaching the ear of Primate Jonas. He decided that if Akatosh was indeed performing miracles through one of his priests, then that priest needed to be at the Cathedral in Kvatch. Soon, Artorius was at the Cathedral, never far from the Primate's side, taking in his words the way a Nord consumes mead. In time, Artorius rose through the hierarchy of the Cathedral, eventually becoming Grand Sermonizer of Akatosh, second only to the Primate of Kvatch himself.

It was during this latter period that the relationship between the Primate and his Grand Sermonizer began to become strained. Artorius wanted the clergy to become more involved in the growing political unrest spreading throughout the Empire, as well as with the increasing threat of the Knahaten Flu. Jonas, for his part, wanted the Cathedral to remain aloof from secular concerns. The two argued constantly about the subject, finally getting to the point where the Primate was prepared to put an end to the disagreement through any means at his disposal—including sending the Grand Sermonizer to a distant posting.

Before the Primate could carry out his threat, however, he suddenly died under what some believe to be suspicious circumstances. Whispered rumors throughout the streets of Kvatch intimated that the Primate had been murdered—perhaps even by assassins connected to the Dark Brotherhood or some other clandestine organization. After all, the Primate had been preaching about the evils of Daedric cults and similar organizations, and specifically called out the Brotherhood as a pox upon the Gold Coast. Whatever the truth, Jonas's death opened the door for Artorius to advance even higher within the hierarchy.

Artorius Ancrus was elected to the post of Primate of Kvatch. He changed his name to Artorius Ponticus and has been a stabilizing force in the region for most of the last decade.


	84. The Saga of Captain Wereshark, Part 4

With our debts settled, we bid goodbye to Gnarlnose and Steggofins, left the frozen shores of Skyrim, and set sail laden with treasures twice as heavy as all the brave sailors we lost. The Pale Spirit was so laden with Nordic booty she plowed through the sea like a harbor seal, but we made port without so much as a sailor overboard. Unknown to us, our next expedition would be our most dangerous yet.

We reached the port in Wayrest, and it took only a few days before Captain Wereshark made the acquaintance of Duke Gignac, the aging Breton adventurer. He purchased many of our Nordic relics and, impressed by my captain's legendary charisma (and, more importantly, the urging of his oldest daughter, Lucette) my captain suckered the old man into funding the Pale Spirit's next expedition to the Maormer islands of Pyandonea. Wearing a new red feather from Lucette in his crown, the Wereshark returned us to sea.

Our stated purpose was to do what we could to open permanent trade relations with the Sea Elves, but the Wereshark, as always, intended merely to plunder all we could. Aside the war galleons Cliff Racer and Silver Arrow (hired from Beldros Hlaalu for a decent fee and percentage of the booty) we sailed with a wind at our backs and enough supplies to feed an army of ravenous Nords for months. As with all our expeditions, things went just fine until they didn't. Those Maormer sea serpents? They aren't just legends.

Our first encounter came shortly after we first sighted a jungle isle common to Sea Elves, in the distance cloaked by a dense fog. The sound of snapping wood and screaming men drifted across the sea as the Wereshark, myself, and every armed sailor rushed to the Pale Spirit's deck. We were just in time to see the Cliff Racer's broken hull sinking below the waves, wrapped in the scaled coils of an enormous snake.

Never one for half measures, the Wereshark shouted for every archer on the boat to loose arrows. Arrows peppered the slimy beast as it dragged the Cliff Racer to her grave, yet no shaft could penetrate the beast's thick scales. That's when that old lizard Hard-Scales grabbed his poison daggers and leapt into the sea, shouting something about Sithis. That crazy Argonian has had a death wish since the day he signed on.

Wouldn't you know it, as Mighty Flicka boomed warnings to the Silver Arrow from atop the mainmast and the Wereshark rallied every sailor capable of swinging a sword, something surfaced on the frothing sea. Old Hard-Scales, covered in glistening black serpent blood, and behind him, the bobbing length of a massive Maormer serpent. Stiff and dead as something dragged in by a barn cat.

Now, don't ask me how Hard-Scales managed to get his daggers through its scales, or how he managed to breath under the sea for all that time, or how he knew his poison was vile enough to drop a snake twice as long as a galleon. All I know is Hard-Scales never talked about it, after, save for expressions of disappointment over failing to meet Sithis once more. As we took on survivors from the Cliff Racer, the Wereshark pledged a full chest of booty to Hard-Scales. No one complained.

Wary of more serpents, the Wereshark gave orders to anchor off the shore of the fog-cloaked jungle isle, in shallow water where we could see anything between us and the sea floor. Pale Spirit and Silver Arrow sent four boats ashore with the Wereshark at their head. Yet not one water-colored Sea Elf showed his face when we made landing.

We all thought the island abandoned. We could not have been more wrong.


	85. The Saga of Captain Wereshark, Part 5

It was only after the crew finished dragging the boats ashore that it started. Irregular growling and snorting peppered with ear-splitting snaps of breaking wood, like a wild boar rutting on a bed of rotted timbers. It came from somewhere in the thick cluster of skinny trees that crept up on the white sand beach.

Any other captain would have had us back on the boats and out to the Pale Spirit before you could gather enough spit to fill a thimble, but the Wereshark's a different sort. He called us all to order on the white-sand beach, his booming growl forming sailors up as pretty as a military procession. The first sailor to gut whatever beast made that teeth-grinding racket, the Wereshark proclaimed, would get his pick of plundered items from the expedition, as well as a welwa steak dinner in the Wereshark's personal cabin.

Just like that, the crew went from worried to eager, for battle and everything else. If you've never had welwa steak, dear reader, know there's nothing better. The way Bagroga salts and cooks it, it tastes like beef and salted cheese and slides down your gullet like greased plantains. No man who sails with the Wereshark can smell it without their mouth watering, and I'll admit, even my own stomach grumbled its assent.

The Wereshark broke us into groups. Hard-Scales would lead a party consisting of Bugnose, One-Eyed Bahzi, and five sailors from the Cliff Racer along the beach, in case the forest beasts ventured out to the sea or there was habitation to be found and looted. Mighty Flicka would lead the tribe of Nord axe swingers, who signed on with us at the Starving Dog, east into the forest to kill or flush whatever was making that rhythmic growl, with Galena Two-Scars along to scout. Never did I see a Wood Elf happier to see trees.

The Wereshark chose to lead the last group himself. That including his loyal first mate (yours truly), the Snowclaw twins, Vimy Lacroix, and the exiled High Elf Neramo. We were to scout the rocky shoals to the south of our landing position and circle around to Hard-Scales's group. We were a smaller party than the rest, but I've never met a knife-ear better at making people explode than Neramo the Mad Mage.

The shoals were treacherous but empty, and we trekked for almost an hour, listening to that horrible growling, before we came across a bunch of empty huts made out of sticks, mud, and leaves. No one was home and there was nothing in the homes but giant egg shell fragments, but it confirmed the island was inhabited, or had been, until whatever was in that forest got hungry and came out on the beach.

The growling came and went, teeth-grinding as ever, but we'd heard no screaming or shouts of terror from the other parties. That meant whatever it was, Mighty Flicka hadn't found it yet. I almost pitied whatever was making the racket until it stepped out onto the beach and stared at us, a four legged lizard bull twice as tall as Bugnose. The thing had green scales and, I swear by Mara's skirts, a glittering trident shiny as one you'd see carried by some stuffy Altmer Queensguard on the streets of Auridon.

Needless to say, no one objected when Neramo hit it in the face with a fireball.


	86. The Saga of Captain Wereshark, Part 6

After Neramo set the lizard bull on fire, the trident-wielding monstrosity charged. The Wereshark ordered us back onto the shoals, where the lizard beast's footing became treacherous. The Snowclaw twins filled the beast with arrows but could not bring it down, and I wished desperately for some of Hard-Scales's deadly poison. That's when Vimy sprang into action, sprinting so fast I could hardly follow.

The beast swung at her with its trident, but Vimy slid under the strike and vaulted herself onto its back with no more effort than mounting a horse. Moments later the lizard bull had knives sticking out of both eyes. Blinded, all it could do was roar and swing its trident as Neramo set it once more aflame.

With a fierce cry, the Wereshark called us to action. He and the Snowclaw twins fell upon the beast with axe and blade as I called down spells to aid and heal them from afar. Blinded, burning, and exhausted, the beast fell, but not before a blind swing tossed Baldor Snowclaw across the beach. Fortunately, the blow only hit his head, the hardest part of a Nord, and I ensured he didn't bleed for all that long.

Beast dealt with, the Wereshark ordered us to search the huts one last time. We found absolutely nothing of value, just those egg shell fragments, and so the Wereshark wisely ordered us back to the boats. The growling hadn't stopped, which meant more massive lizard bulls lumbered through the trees.

An island filled with empty huts and lizard bulls was not the place to risk our lives. There were other pearls to be clutched. We returned to the beach to await the others, and when we reached it, we found an army of glistening Sea Elves. They surrounded our boats and had Hard-Scales, Bugnose, and the Cliff Racer survivors hostage. I learned later the cat-hating bastards gutted One-Eyed Bahzi for sport.

Cloaked from view, the Wereshark took our counsel. We couldn't leave Hard-Scales and Bugnose in chains, and besides, the Sea Elves had our ships. A Maormer warship was just visible anchored between the Pale Spirit, the Silver Arrow, and open sea, which would hinder our escape even if we did manage to somehow return to them. After a moment of consideration, the Wereshark made his decision. We would "negotiate."

He ordered us to wait in the shadows and to attack only if he shouted "Stendarr's Blood!" Understand, dear reader, we are pirates, and all pirates know the fate of one taken by Sea Elves. Any of us would gladly embrace a death gutting those knife-ears over being carved up as a storm sacrifice. If the Sea Elves refused to negotiate, the Wereshark promised, more than a few of them would be floating home.

The moment the Wereshark announced himself, over four dozen Sea Elves drew blades and bows and turned to him, milky eyes wide, but my captain sauntered toward them as if strolling down any crowded street in Abah's Landing. He kept his hands visible and away from his sword hilts, and the Sea Elves let him come. No doubt Hard-Scales had told them of our captain's many exploits, as instructed.

When they moved to disarm him, the Wereshark made no protest as they removed his swords, and then the daggers from his boots, and the dagger from his belt, and those up his sleeves. That was when the slimmest of the Sea Elves, a pale-faced fool in golden armor that glinted in the sun, approached my captain and backhanded him across the face. The Wereshark spit at his feet and grinned wide.

I glanced at Vimy, who rolled her eyes. Not a good start to the negotiations. Mighty Flicka chose that moment to charge from the forest with her Nords, all howling like a pack of enraged welwas.

Eight trident-swinging lizard bulls rushed the beach after them, chased by a gleeful Galena Two-Scars.


	87. The Saga of Captain Wereshark, Part 7

The sudden charge of a tribe of blood-crazed Nord axe swingers and a horde of trident-swinging lizard bulls must have rattled the Sea Elf captain, for he shouted a panicked cry to his bowmen. They foolishly turned their arrows on the enraged beasts. The futile attacks only enraged the lizard bulls all the more, and in the commotion, the Wereshark shouted "Stendarr's Blood!" As one, we charged into battle.

The enraged lizard bulls fell upon the frightened Sea Elves, ripping them apart or tossing them into the trees. By the time the Sea Elves rallied, forming a phalanx of shields and casting lightning and storms, Mighty Flicka and the rest were past them, meeting us at the shore. The Wereshark had reclaimed his weapons by then, and those Sea Elves too slow to flee fell as we freed our compatriots from bondage.

Caught between a crowd of the most ruthless buccaneers to ever raise a sail and a herd of enraged lizard bulls, even the cluster of Sea Elves wilted like a moon blossom in Sentinel's heat. Eventually, the surviving Maormer scattered and fled into the woods, chased by most of the lizard bulls. With Neramo and Vimy to show the others how it was done, we took down what few lizard bulls challenged us.

After quickly looting every valuable we could from the Elf corpses, we survivors rushed into our boats and pushed out onto open sea. All of us kept wary eyes on the anchored Sea Elf galleon floating beyond the Pale Spirit. New fog rolled in behind us, and I'll never forget the tortured cries of those Sea Elves as the lizard bulls chased them down and gored them. Despite their barbarous ways, I almost pitied the poor bastards as the island's terrifying inhabitants slaughtered them to the last.

Captain Wereshark now wore the golden-armored leader's helmet on his own head, though that was more of a mocking joke than a permanent adjustment. As if the Wereshark would ever truly doff his ever-changing tangle of marvelous colored feathers! How then would people recognize him?

As we rowed, and Sea Elves screamed, we waited for lightning, or storms, or another sea serpent attack, but we reached the Pale Spirit and clambered aboard as the surviving crew of the Silver Arrow did the same. We set sail, but the Sea Elf warship stayed where it was anchored. I knew then that fool of a Sea Elf captain had not left enough sailors on board to sail his warship home. On another day we might have seized her, but we had neither the necessary crew to sail her nor a benefactor who would buy her.

I watched the fog swallow that Sea Elf warship and the island of enraged lizard bulls. The screams persisted long after both had vanished from view, but soon there was no sound but the gentle lapping of the sea and the flapping of the Pale Spirit's mighty sails. We sailed with the Silver Arrow all through the night, in case there were more Sea Elf warships in search of the first, but no others challenged us. The fog burned off with the new day to reveal another island, far more promising than the last.

As we slid silently forward and sailors readied weapons, we could see the glistening spires of Sea Elf architecture and, more importantly, no visible Sea Elf soldiers guarding her shores. This was likely another fishing village, so remote none expected attack. Our haul from this raid would be massive.

With a twinkle in his eye and his feathers flapping in the wind, Captain Wereshark ordered the attack.


	88. The Silver Werewolf

One day, while hunting for rabbits on the slopes of Mount Trolhetta, the Silver Werewolf flicked her ears at the sound of mournful sobbing on the wind. Never one to ignore suffering, the Silver Werewolf threw her line of rabbits across her shoulder and lumbered toward the sound. Eventually she found a massive, bearded giant all alone at a snuffed out campfire, roaring sadness at the sky.

"Why do you cry?" the Silver Werewolf snarled, and the giant understood thanks to the Medallion of Gulibeg the Quick Fox that she wore around her neck.

"My mate gone. My child gone. Vanished, as I slept. There are many tiny tracks. I fear Goblins have taken them."

He was not wrong. The Silver Werewolf's keen nose detected the stench of at least a dozen Goblins, as well as the lingering scent of paralytic poison. The giant's family was not dead, but they soon would be, slaughtered to feed the hungry Goblin tribe. No one deserved that cruel fate.

The Silver Werewolf straightened and growled deep, a promise. "The Goblins will not keep them."

"Bring them home and you may ask anything of me."

"I will ask you to smile," was her only reply.

Nose to the ground, the Silver Werewolf tracked the Goblin stench down Mount Trolhetta, across the Smokefrost Peaks, to a massive Goblin encampment on the fringes of Lost Prospect. It held far more Goblins than she had ever seen in one place, which was why they had been brave enough to kidnap giants for food. A small tribe would never have dared anger the vengeful giants.

Even for the Silver Werewolf, who could tear apart a dozen Goblins without ruffling her fur, a camp of hundreds was too dangerous. She would have to be clever. Scenting a nearby corpse, an idea dawned on her. She shifted into her Nord form and cloaked herself in the dead woman's rags. Thus clothed and looking entirely harmless, she wandered into the Goblins' camp like a helpless Nord lost in the snow.

The Goblins came for her at once, but all they saw was an unarmed Nord woman dressed in rags. A fine prize. Rather than attacking, they eagerly trussed up the Silver Werewolf and took her to their food pens, where they kept all those caught until it came time to cook them for supper. Once there, they threw the Silver Werewolf into a makeshift wooden cage and left her to freeze to death in the cold.

As she'd hoped, the overconfident Goblins had played right into her hands. Even muffled by her Nord form, the Silver Werewolf's nose detected the smell of giants nearby. Now, all she had to do was wait until dark, and make her escape with the giant's family and any others who wished freedom.

Dark fell and the Goblins grew sleepy, leaving only their trained durzogs to prowl the edges of the food paddocks. It was a bad night for hunting, but a good night for sneaking, as clouds crept in to obscure the moon. The Silver Werewolf shifted forms in the dark and quietly snapped the bars of her wooden cage. While those bars would cage a Nord, they were no match for her bestial strength.

Silent as a shadow, the Silver Werewolf prowled the food paddocks until her keen nose detected one with giants inside. Just as quietly she opened it, crept inside, and slashed the bonds holding down the giantess and her little one.

"Your loved one waits where you left him," she whispered in a low growl.

"Thank you, Moon-kissed. We will see him again, or die trying."

On her way out, the Silver Werewolf spotted another paddock filled with Nords, moaning with piteous cries. Despite her distaste for these wolf-killers, animals who killed for sport and not for food, she knew they could be useful in their own way.

"Run now!" She snarled to the giantess as she tore into the Nord paddock, snarling and drooling as she menaced them with her claws.

Screaming Nords burst from their cage in all directions, alerting durzog and Goblin alike. In the commotion, the Silver Werewolf found the giantess and led her toward the camp's edge. Goblins challenged them, but were cut down by the Silver Werewolf's claws and teeth or smashed by the dozens at the hands of the vengeful giantess.

Soon only the durzogs pursued them, but one deafening howl from the Silver Werewolf sent the cowed dogs skittering back to their masters. A number of Nords had escaped as well, the Silver Werewolf saw, and she had no doubt they would return in force to smash the Goblins soon. That is what Nords did, and this time only, the Silver Werewolf wished them luck.

Under cover of darkness, the Silver Werewolf led the giantess back up Mount Trolhetta and there, at the campfire, the family was reunited. The lonely giant clutched his child and mate as he babbled his thanks in his guttural tongue. "How? How can I repay you?"

Thinking of her own pups, she repeated:

"I will ask you to smile, so I can see how you treasure them above all else."

And he did.


	89. The Society of the Dragon

Want to show your love and faith for Akatosh, the Dragon God of Time, but you're not ready to devote yourself to the Akatosh priesthood? The Cathedral of Kvatch understands. That's why we've established the Society of the Dragon.

Led by the Grand Chanter Surus and a select few Akatosh priests, the Society welcomes initiates into its ranks for fellowship, learning, and to discuss the most-pressing theological questions of the day. Come join the Society. Help us make Kvatch a better place through prayer, faith, and your devotion to Akatosh.

All serious inquiries accepted. We have a place for you as part of the Society.


	90. The Wolf and the Dragon

When Varen Aquilarios left the Gold Coast with the Second Legion to carry his rebellion into the heart of Cyrodiil, he didn't leave his beloved homeland completely unprotected. Between a slim wall that stretched from the shores of the Abecean Sea to the banks of the Strid River and a surrogate champion in the form of his nephew Carolus, Kvatch and the surrounding countryside were spared both the retaliation of the Longhouse Emperor and the degradations of the war that followed. But there were still plenty of opportunities for the Wolf of Kvatch to take on the Imperial Dragon.

Carolus Aquilarios idolized his uncle and was eager to help when Varen declared open rebellion against the Emperor. In fact, Carolus wanted to join Varen and fight alongside him as he marched toward the Imperial City. But Varen had other plans for Carolus. He wanted someone he could trust to protect the homefront—someone like his honorable nephew. Disappointed not to be beside Varen and in the midst of the action, Carolus nevertheless vowed to keep Kvatch and its people safe, just as his uncle knew he would. He immediately assumed temporary command of the County of Kvatch.

Shortly after Varen and the majority of Second Legion departed the Gold Coast, the Imperial Prefect of Anvil and Ephrem Benirus, the Count of Anvil, sent Imperial forces stationed in the coastal city inland to seize Varen Aquilarios's property and holdings. Carolus rallied the single cohort of the Second Legion that Varen left in his command, as well as the Kvatch Warders—the famed defenders of the city. Kvatch's defenders met the Imperial forces on the plains below the city. The battle was short and fierce, ending with the remnants of Anvil's forces—now greatly reduced—retreating back the way they had come. The Wolf of Kvatch had repelled an attack by the Imperial Dragon.

Before the year was out, Anvil sent its dwindling Imperial troops against Kvatch three more times, and each time they came away beaten and fewer than they were before. Then, word reached the region that Varen Aquilarios had ascended to the Ruby Throne. Carolus, who was being called the Wolf of Kvatch for his bravery and leadership, officially inherited the title of Count of Kvatch and took the wolf's head symbol as his own.

Unfortunately, Kvatch's good fortune wouldn't last long. As soon as Carolus was officially named as Count of Kvatch, Artorius Ponticus, Primate of Kvatch, began working to undermine the count's authority and carve out more power and influence for himself. Always ambitious and powerful in his own right as the religious authority of Cyrodiil, the Primate had a grudgingly civil relationship with Varen, and had put aside his ambitions while Carolus struggled to keep Kvatch safe. With the change in regime in the capital, however, it appeared that the Primate sought a more influential position in the city's hierarchy. Before this challenge could come to a head, however, something significant occurred in Anvil.

But that's a tale for another book.


	91. The Wolf and the Pirate Queen

Thanks to the actions of Carolus Aquilarios, the Wolf of Kvatch, Anvil's defenses were practically nonexistent when Captain Fortunata—the Pirate Queen—sailed into port. After numerous attempts by the Imperial soldiers stationed at the port city to invade Kvatch, the barracks in Anvil were practically empty due to defeat after defeat at the Wolf's hands. Captain Fortunata's loyal pirates and buccaneers quickly took control of the city and she claimed the title of Provincial Governor for herself.

That might have been the end of things, as far as Count Carolus was concerned, except for what the Pirate Queen decided to do next. She declared that the Gold Coast was now an independent state, free and separate from Cyrodiil and the Empire. When she requested that Kvatch join Anvil as part of the new order, the count refused, preferring to continue to owe fealty to Emperor Varen. Not feeling totally confident at the time, Fortunata didn't press the demand. But she wouldn't forget the count's lack of support. When the Soulburst occurred and Varen disappeared, she took advantage of Kvatch's sudden isolation to make her demands more forceful.

Anvil began pressing Kvatch to join the Gold Coast, both diplomatically and by increasingly underhanded means. Marauders and bandit gangs began to appear along the Gold Road around Kvatch, disrupting trade and harassing travelers. Kvatch's elite guards, the Warders, were dispatched to deal with the bandits, but each time the bandits were able to escape to the Strid River. They returned in greater numbers, amplifying their attacks by raiding outlying farms and sending frightened refugees into the city for protection.

Despite these acts of aggression, Carolus remained staunch and refused to negotiate with the Pirate Queen. Infuriated, Fortunata announced that Kvatch would be formally annexed into the Gold Coast. She sent the Anvil Guard to take command of the city. The Count of Kvatch responded by putting the Warders upon the walls and sending the cohort out to confront the invaders. The opposing forces met on the Gold Road, near the Gottshaw Inn. The more disciplined and highly trained cohort scattered the motley guards from Anvil, but the situation wasn't as it appeared. It was a trap. An army of pirates exploded out of hiding and surrounded the cohort. While ragged and undisciplined, the pirates outnumbered the legionaries six to one. The cohort was wiped out in what has come to be known as the Gottshaw Massacre.

Carolus Aquilarios had no choice. Without the support of the cohort, he had no option other than to swear fealty to the Gold Coast. Now, caught between the Pirate Queen and the Primate of Akatosh, the Count seethes at his powerlessness, all the while doing everything he can to honor his vow and protect Kvatch and its people.


	92. To the Traitor of Saintsport

I know that was you in the crowd at Enrick's last night, Mederic. You may have changed your hair and your fine clothes, but you can't hide that scar on your chin or the missing fingers on your right hand.  
I know where you slid off to, now, and I know it was your crew that did Lennoc back in Port Hunding. He was my best mate for twenty years, in case you forgot about that while you were making him sing.  
I'm leaving this note as a courtesy, so you can get your affairs in order. You have three days to make your peace and say your goodbyes to whatever sorry excuses for friends you've gathered in this rat hole of a port. After that, I'm coming for you. Make no mistake, you're leaving this world.  
If you don't put up a fuss, I'll make it quick, which is a damn sight better than you gave Lennoc. If you run, then our next meeting will be very different. Once I catch you, I'll make it last a very long time.  
If the waiting grows too hard for you, you pig-faced coward, I won't object if you do yourself before your days are up. Your method, your choice. But know this … I'll absolutely make sure afterward.  
Remember, Mederic. I'm watching you. You know as well as Lennoc did that I can track better than anyone. You might make it out of Anvil, but you won't make it away from me. You're done living.  
See you in three days.


	93. Up High Note

Concerning the baker.

Strange man. Even for a High Elf. Doesn't seem to like many people, and the feeling appears to be mutual. His baking skills are without question, however. In fact, people claim he bakes the best sweetroll in all of the Gold Coast. We really need to check those sweetrolls. I'll place an order.

Code Location: East of the Cathedral.


	94. Varen's Wall

Hastily constructed during the early stages of Varen Aquilarios's rebellion against the last of the Longhouse Emperors, the structure known as Varen's Wall separates the Gold Coast from the Colovian Highlands. Allow me to elucidate the wall and its importance to the region, the rebellion, and the ongoing strife personified by the Three Banners War.

Shortly after the start of Varen's Rebellion, Aquilarios ordered his followers to begin construction of a wall to protect Kvatch and the rest of the Gold Coast from retaliation by the Longhouse Emperor and his troops. Aquilarios, determined to take the battle to the heart of the Empire, didn't want to leave his home and original seat of power open to retribution by his enemies in his absence. He enlisted the famed engineer Jaros Truptor to design and oversee the project, ordering him to build a strong, tall defense in record time.

With a cadre of paid workers and an ever-growing army of eager volunteers, Jaros set about the task at hand. Deciding that speed and solid construction were more important than any aesthetic values, Jaros designed a relatively simple plan that allowed for the use of whatever building materials his workers were able to scavenge from the surrounding countryside. Natural rock and stone, pieces of ruined structures, purchased building supplies—even parts scavenged from the estates dotting the countryside— all were gathered for use in raising Varen's Wall.

Jaros's design of the wall itself was simple, utilitarian, and not anywhere near as visually appealing as the other projects he's known for. The wall was a mix of rough-hewn stone, mismatched rocks, blocks commandeered from the estates of willing and unwilling donors, and even the natural contours of the land itself. Towers rose from the wall in a more or less regular pattern, breaking up the expanse of stone and providing locations for guards, watchmen, or even garrisons of soldiers to congregate along the defended border.

Due to Varen's popularity among the common folk of Kvatch and Anvil Counties, Jaros was able to form a volunteer work crew that provided him with more than enough workers to keep construction going day and night. But popularity alone didn't inspire the people to donate their time and effort. It was Varen's words and deeds that accomplished that. He convinced the people that his rebellion was not only just, it was necessary to stop the Daedra-worshiping Emperor Leovic. In addition, he rallied the people to help defend themselves and their land, and within a year Varen's Wall stretched from the shores of the Abecean Sea, winding its way through the countryside southwest of the Colovian Highlands, eventually terminating at the Strid River.

As important as Varen's Wall was to protecting the region during Varen's Rebellion, it has played an even greater role since the fall of the Empire and the start of the Three Banners War. As the war for Cyrodiil rages on, Varen's Wall has protected the counties of Kvatch and Anvil from the worst fallout of the ongoing battles taking place at what was once the heart of the shattered Empire. It has created a kind of safe harbor in which the people of the Gold Coast have thrived. In some ways, it has become a sort of political experiment to see whether the law and order typified by Kvatch and the Cathedral of Akatosh or the more chaotic nature of Anvil and its collection of pirates and smugglers will win out as the ultimate power in the area.


	95. Sanctuary Marginalia

Sundas  
All of these recent troubles visiting our Sanctuary puts me in mind of my previous Sanctuary back in the Blackwood Borderlands. I never want what happened there to happen to my home again. I suppose that's why I get such meticulous records. If someone in my Sanctuary breaks the tenets, I want to have absolute proof of that. And if we're falsely accused of breaking the tenets, then I want to be able to point to the appropriate journal and show the Black Hand that, this time, it made a mistake.

So I write down everything.

Middas  
The Matron asked me how I was feeling today. Why? Does she know something I don't?

Turdas  
Hildegard's fur was all over my living space today. I told her not to come around when she was in wolf form. I'm making a note of this transgression, just for the record.

Fredas  
I wonder what would happen if I mixed goat milk with bile-beer? Remember to try that the next time Kor brings in supplies.

Morndas  
Tanek said hurtful things about my scales and my tail. Someday, I'm going to inform the Speaker about the way he treats his family.

Tirdus  
Another one of the family was found murdered today. Poor Symdul. There was something familiar about the way he was killed. I need to think about that and check my old notebooks.

Turdas  
The Speaker seemed displeased with me. He kept throwing dark glances at me every time I jotted down what somebody said. Or maybe not. He always throws dark glances at us.

Fredas  
I listened to a sermonizer today. I started taking notes, as usual, but I soon became so upset that I couldn't read my own handwriting. How dare they say such lies about the Brotherhood? I must inform the Matron about this.

Loredas  
Cimbar was tortured and killed. Sadness fills the Sanctuary like water fills a lake. My heart breaks for poor Mirabelle. She so enjoyed fornicating with Cimbar as often as possible. Maybe she'd appreciate reviewing all of my extensive notes on their couplings?

Sundas  
The New-Blade asks the most interesting questions. I need to jot these down.

"What do we do after we get to Blackwood?" Good question!  
"How do we do that?" Sometimes New-Blade is a bit dense.  
"What do you need me to do?" I could have been inappropriate here.  
"Wasn't this Sanctuary abandoned?" Not paying attention. Already explained that.

Morndas  
Lyra Viria. That's a name I haven't thought about in a long time. We were friends once, brother and sister. She was dead. Or so I thought. Now I discover that she's not only alive, but she's the one who purified our Sanctuary. And now I find out that she's the Black Dragon, the murderer responsible for killing my current brothers and sisters. I can't fathom why she turned against the Brotherhood, but it doesn't matter. She needs to die.

Middus  
I remember a night back in my old Sanctuary. I was a new initiate, and so was Lyra. The seasoned brothers and sisters enjoyed trying to frighten us with all kinds of scary stories. I remember one in particular, when Lyra and I were listening with a combination of tension and fascination. It was the story of Brombar, an Assassin who betrayed his brother. He was mortally wounded by the sister who was sent to punish him. She left him barely alive so that when the wraith of Sithis appeared to claim his soul, he'd be completely aware of what was happening to him. That scared us both so much that neither of us could sleep soundly for more than a week. Why did I think of that, I wonder?

Turdas  
The Matron ordered me to track down the Black Dragon and kill her. I am honored and saddened by the trust she places in me.


	96. Words of the Grand Sermonizer

Faithful, Kvatch has stood as a bulwark against the darkness—and those that lurk in it—for generations. Your Wardens are the envy of cities across the Empire for their tireless watch against those skulking evils that would poison the purity of this place.

But we must not grow complacent! For it is now that we face our greatest peril: The Dark Brotherhood!

The Primate, in his infinite wisdom, has seen this threat approaching. Even now, they creep into our lands, finding purchase in the long shadows of Anvil and the overgrowth of our untamed wilderness. This decay has allowed them to infect our beloved Gold Coast and, unchecked, it will fester.

Kvatch must lead by example. We must root out these murderers wherever they may be found, not just within our own realm. You too must become the warden. You too must become aspirants of the Hour. You too must raise the hue and cry, or draw the sword of justice against the sickly knives of these perverse fiends. When the light is cast upon them, you will find no fearsome creatures. Only the craven shell that remains when the shadows are dispelled.

The hour of reckoning approaches, faithful, be ready to meet it.


	97. Worship of the Dragon God

"Lord Akatosh, lend us your might! Lord Akatosh, grant us your light!"  
—A popular prayer to Akatosh the Dragon God

If there is a single Divine who holds dominion over the Gold Coast, it has to be Akatosh, the Dragon God of Time. From the grand Cathedral of Akatosh in Kvatch and radiating outward, the word of Akatosh and his servants spreads the light and the truth of the Dragon God in all directions.

Reputed to be the first and greatest of the Eight Divines and the first of the gods to form in the Beginning Place, Akatosh watches over the land and its people with a singular ferocity, never shirking in his role as the God-defender of the Empire—even while the Empire lies broken and shattered. As the Primate of Kvatch likes to say at every opportunity, "The Dragon God sees beyond the concerns of the day and contemplates the entire expanse of time. The current situation is merely a minor disturbance in the flow of events, and Akatosh has everything well in hand."

Akatosh promotes three key qualities in his sphere: endurance, invincibility, and everlasting legitimacy. Perhaps that's why the Empire was so quick to embrace the Dragon God and his tenets. In the words of the Primate of Kvatch, here are the ways in which Akatosh embodies the three key qualities.

Endurance: "This quality represents Akatosh's ability and strength to continue or last and is directly tied to his role as the God of Time. Akatosh endures, and so do the true believers who have accepted his words and devoted themselves to his teachings. Despite fatigue, regardless of stress or adverse conditions, Akatosh and his followers carry on. This is the Dragon God's lasting quality."  
Invincibility: "Akatosh cannot be conquered, defeated, or subdued—and neither can those who believe in and honor the Dragon God. This is the Dragon God's indomitable quality."  
Everlasting Legitimacy: "This quality must be examined in all its parts. It represents not only Akatosh's eternal aspect, but his reverence for law, reason, and the ruling principles of hereditary right. Nothing blessed and sanctioned by Akatosh can be considered spurious or unjustified. This is the Dragon God's continuing and lawful quality."  
Beyond these basic tenets, the Primate of Kvatch and his priests preach the five commands of Akatosh to faithful and faithless alike.

"Serve and obey your Emperor." Since its inception, the Empire and Akatosh worship have gone hand in hand, as this command clearly exemplifies.  
"Study the Covenants." These written agreements between Akatosh and his mortal followers, such as Alessia and her descendents, serve as tokens of their joined blood and pledged faith. All followers are urged to read and understand these eternal contracts.  
"Worship the Eight." But Akatosh is not a jealous god. He expects his followers to pay tribute not just to himself, but to his fellow Divines.  
"Do your duty." Duty and responsibility figure prominently in the teachings of the rule-loving Dragon God. Failure to fulfill your obligations is a sin in the eyes of Akatosh.  
"Heed the commands of the saints and priests." Akatosh favors hierarchy and structure, so it comes as no surprise that he demands that his followers comply with the orders of the saints and priests.  
The Primate of Kvatch often declares, "As Akatosh wills it, so shall it be." For the Dragon God of Time embodies yesterday, today, and tomorrow, and he embraces the rules that keep the world ordered and precise. By honoring Akatosh with devotion and worship, his followers endeavor to do the same.


	98. Your Package Is Ready

Your package has been secured and your advance payment received. We're set. When you see the Rowdy Guar docked, meet me past midnight on the pier to take your delivery.

You'll be looking for a sealed barrel marked with a blue blaze on the staves. Place your bag of gold on top of the barrel where I can see it. That's when we'll make the exchange.

Once I count your gold, we tip the barrel on its side and you roll it right off the docks to your home, just like you'd do with apples or fish. I have an understanding with the dockmaster, so none of the Red Sails will stop you. If one does, just tell them you're delivering "mouse meat." They'll get the message.

If you're worried about any noise or shouting from inside the barrel, don't be. I'll take care of that before we land with a special potion of my own design. Your package will be absolutely quiet the whole way home, even if you roll and jostle it on the road. I'll give you another potion to counteract the first.

I'm certain you'll be more than satisfied with my delivery. But, whenever you get tired of this one, I can have you another in days, if you wish. There's always more where this came from, if you've got the gold.


End file.
